The Will of the Empire
by CzarZelinsky
Summary: Not long after the Battle of Endor, Luke discovers that his father may have gone just a tad overboard in making sure his son, and the galaxy, was provided for in the event of his death. And who says Anakin Skywalker doesn't know how to plan! (Han/Leia, Piett lives!, Rogue Squadron, Kettch, the Noghri, Thrawn, Karrde, Jix, Mara, and the rest of the gang)
1. Prologue

**~~ The Will of the Empire ~~**

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 **— The Will of the Empire —**

 **Prologue**

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : This is a predominantly Legends (Expanded Universe) AU and with 99% of the characters/dates/events/stuff taken from Legends canon; there might be a few new canon elements involved but their only purpose will be to help tie some things together. I'm not willing to go into any real depth with the new canon just yet, mostly because there just hasn't been enough material that I feel I could it effectively. Legends, on the other hand, has been so well fleshed out that it's incredibly easy to slip in an AU.  
Aside from my own personal contributions to the story, I'm intending on drawing a lot of material from The Truce at Bakura, the Rogue Squadron series, and even the Thrawn trilogy. A lot of the material is likely to be close enough to Legends canon to be easily recognizable, but there will obviously be some changes to the sequence of events, timing, and certain characters' political affiliations.  
If you've ever read any of my other stories, you'll know that I do not enjoy writing OCs and I do not intend for that to change in WotE. If there are people or events you don't recognize, chances are you'll be able to find it on Wookieepedia. I'm hoping for this story to be a good blend of serious storytelling along with regular interjections of humor (Janson and Hobbie, anyone?), but let me know if I start to dip too deeply into serious/comedy.

Because I'm working on this story while also attempting to finish up one of my other stories, _Thor's Slayers_ , my first few chapters of this story might be a little slow in coming. I plan on alternating chapter releases between the stories.

 **Acknowledgments:** _The Last Will of Darth Vader_ by Supermoi was NOT the inspiration or foundation for my story. That being said, our two stories share similar elements and I would be remiss were I to fail in giving kudos to Supermoi. I'm sure there are other stories out there that also share the same basic premise, but his is the only story I've read that does so.

 **Disclaimer** : It is my sincere regret that I am neither George Lucas nor Kathleen Kennedy and am therefore _not_ the owner of Star Wars. Thank you to all of the wonderful actors, writers, producers, directors, and talented individuals out there that helped make the wonderful universe that continues to inspire me to this day.

 **Formatting note:** Bold, italicized text within brackets indicate _**[communication through the Force**. **]**_

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 _"I have brought peace, freedom, justice and security to my new empire!"_  
 _— Anakin Skywalker (as Darth Vader)_

 **#**

 **4 ABY (Four years after the Battle of Yavin)  
Aboard the Death Star  
Endor system, Moddell sector**

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith and Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet, walked at his master's side through the assembled mass of the Empire's finest. His respirator was unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent hanger and though he'd learned to make use of the hated contraption, even use it to inspire terror in others, the sound still grated against his nerves. Beside him, his master walked slowly, a tap of his cane accompanying each measured step. Vader was aware that Palpatine's slow gait was a genuine product of his age, but he also knew that much of his master's seemingly frailty was an affectation meant to lure his opponents into the open. The Emperor might be an old man now but he was still a Sith Lord whose knowledge of the dark side far exceeded his own. Darth Vader knew that he would fail if he challenged his master openly, that he simply didn't possess the power necessary to destroy him. Not by himself, at least.

In his peripheral version, he observed Moff Jerjerrod, the officer of dubious competence who'd been charged with overseeing the construction of the Death Star, looking straight ahead as if determined that he would see and hear _nothing._ Darth Vader could feel the man's pride at following at the heels of the Emperor himself but also a desperate desire to be _elsewhere_. His uneasiness could've been a result of his proximity to Palpatine's foul presence but it was just as likely to be the cowardly, greedy, and callous coterie that made up the circle of Palpatine's most favored councilors.

As far as he was concerned, each of those _favored_ _councilors_ could go space themselves out of an airlock and suck on vacuum for all the good they did. Vader despised each and every one of the sycophantic bottom feeders that catered to his master's whims while jockeying for position within the Imperial Court. It was a lamentable fact that they were necessary for managing the minutia of the Empire or he would have happily killed them all long ago. It was even more lamentable that their efficiency in performing their duties was greatly set back by their own greed and lust for power and that any potential replacements were even _worse_. He withheld a growl of distaste and put the insipid courtiers out of his mind and focused upon his master.

Darth Vader found it as difficult as ever to tamp down on the rage he felt whenever he lay eyes upon the man. He had long ago lost count of the reasons he hated his master but Sidious would nevertheless remain his master until Darth Vader discovered the means to kill him, such was the way of the Sith. Glancing aside, he took the initiative and spoke first. "The Death Star _will_ be completed on schedule."

The Emperor didn't turn his way, but Vader could feel the ugly smile that accompanied his air of dark anticipation. "You have done well, Lord Vader. And now I sense you wish to continue your search for young Skywalker."

Used to Palpatine's perceptiveness, Vader didn't so much as miss a step, though his answer wasn't immediately forthcoming. "Yes, my Master," he answered, deciding that a simple answer would likely serve him better.

"Patience, my friend. In time he will seek _you_ out. And when he does, you must bring him before me. He has grown strong. Only together can we turn him to the dark side of the Force," the Emperor assured him, tone eager and hungry.

"As you wish." Darth Vader's words were few and revealed little that might betray his thought while making a conscious effort to shield his thoughts as he contemplated the significance of his son approaching _him._ That, and the consequences of bringing his son before the Emperor, who would no doubt attempt to sway Luke and pit father against son.

"Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen," the Emperor cackled as he turned his disfigured, gleeful face toward him.

Vader remained silent while his master cackled, the laugh seeming to echo in the large, silent hanger. He didn't doubt Palpatine's vision; if he'd learned anything over the years, it was that foresight was an aptitude his master held in abundance. However, possessing the ability to foresee the future did not make one omniscient, for only possibilities were glimpsed, not certainties. His master, glutted with the satisfaction and arrogance earned by his purge of the Jedi and dominion of the galaxy often forgot that fact.

Vader gave no reply and continued to walk at his master's side, thoughts churning.

* * *

 **Twelve days later  
Eve of the Battle of Endor**

Darth Vader entered the turbolift that would take him to his master's throne room, still pondering the presence of his son aboard the Imperial shuttle that he'd allowed to land upon the sanctuary moon. It didn't require a tactical genius to know that his son's presence indicated an imminent attempt to destroy the shield generator on Endor as a prelude to a larger attack on the Death Star itself. But neither the Death Star nor the shield generator concerned him at this moment, only the presence of his son. His master had been right, Luke had grown strong in the Force, so much stronger than he'd been the last time they'd faced one another in Cloud City.

The bait the Emperor had dangled in front of the Rebellion had been taken and Vader would've been perfectly content to remain on the _Executor_ to observe the final defeat of the Rebellion but for one thing.

His _son_ was with them...

After what felt like hours, the doors of the turbolift slid open to reveal the dark chamber that served as the Emperor's throne room on the Death Star. Vader walked past the two red-robed Royal Guardsmen toward his master. The room was silent, a silence once again broken by the sound of his respirator and the quiet hum of the Death Star's main reactor. His master sat upon his throne, turned away to allow the Sith Lord a view of the stars. Darth Vader continued toward his master until he reached the steps of the Emperor's dais where he came to a halt and waited to be acknowledged.

"I told you to remain on the command ship," the Emperor grated out, his irritation at having been disobeyed lacing every syllable.

Darth Vader ignored his master's words, normally a dangerous proposition, and instead focused on the one thing, the one person he'd been focusing on for the last four years. "A small Rebel force has penetrated the shield and landed on Endor."

"Yes, I know," the Emperor, still sounding irritated but with an added dose of amusement.

Vader waited a moment before adding, "my son is with them."

Palpatine had always been an exceptionally self-disciplined individual; if he hadn't been, he would never have been able to become Chancellor of the Republic, let alone destroy the Jedi. The Sith Lord's surprise was betrayed only by the brief pause after Vader's revelation and the spike of displeasure that had preceded the Emperor's cool words."Are you sure?"

"I have felt him, my Master," he answered, betraying none of the pleasure he felt at having surprised his normally cognizant master.

"Strange that I have not. I wonder if your feelings on this matter are clear, Lord Vader."

"They are clear, my Master," Vader maintained and gritted his teeth when his consciousness was casually probed by his master.

"Then you must go to the sentry moon and wait for him," the Emperor decreed with finality.

Vader blinked. "He will come to _me_?"

"I have foreseen it. His compassion for you will be his undoing. He will come to you and then you will bring him before me."

"As you wish," he intoned.

Vader didn't allow himself to think of Luke or the Emperor's words until he was back inside the turbolift. To do so would have invited death or punishment for the betrayal he planned, a betrayal that couldn't be accomplished without Luke.

 _"His compassion for you will be his undoing."_

Simple words, spoken in a way that should have filled him with anticipation for the end of Luke Skywalker and the beginning of something far greater and far darker. And it _was_ anticipation, but one born of mixed feelings. He wanted his son, needed his son's power to defeat Palpatine, but for his son to come to _him_ for the sake of something so foolish as sentimentality... He scoffed at the idea, at the foolish dreams of a boy looking for good where there was none to be found.

 _"His compassion for you will be his undoing."_

He could remember the boy's screams of denial when he'd revealed the lies that had cast a veil over his son's eyes to turn him against his father; truth was a double-edged blade and Luke had learned that lesson well that day on Cloud City. Yet despite learning of the lies Obi-Wan had filled his mind with, the boy had allowed himself to fall from a gantry rather than accept him as his father. Except...that wasn't entirely true, was it? Just minutes later, he had touched his son's mind through the Force and had heard his son's whispered ' _Father?'_ in return. Though the reply had been filled with the pain born from his wounds and the revelation of his heritage, there had been a startling degree of acceptance as well.

Vader's thoughts clashed with one another, trying to grasp how the Emperor's words about Luke's empathy for him would play into Palpatine's trap. The Emperor obviously intended to replace him, he'd been trying to do so for years and would pit father against son until one emerged victoriously. As for his son... Would Luke fall as easily as he himself had? Could he use Luke's compassion for him as a weapon against his master? _Or will I allow myself to simply play the puppet for Palpatine?_

One thing was certain; if Vader were to bring Luke before the Emperor then the struggle would be as much about turning Luke to the dark side as it would be a competition between him and his master to win Luke's obedience. For him, Luke represented the only chance he had to destroy the Emperor; for the Emperor, Luke would be a true replacement for his aging, damaged sire. Vader couldn't help but find it ironic that Luke, who represented so much hope for the Alliance and the Jedi, did the same for the Dark Lords of the Sith. But who would be disappointed when the dust finally settled? Whose hopes would be crushed and whose ambitions would be realized? When all was finally done, would the Emperor reign with Luke at his side? Or would Luke's death come at his own father's hands?

Without warning, Vader felt the Force enfold him, wash over his mind like an ocean wave as premonition held him within its grasp. Unlike his visions in the past, this one lacked the normal torrent of agonizing scenes or accompanying sensations of pain or despair. Instead, Darth Vader suddenly _knew_ something he hadn't known before, a truth granted to him by the Force. Not even a complete piece of knowledge, just a small hint accompanied by an overwhelming surge of certainty that it was true: If he presented Luke to the Emperor, by the end of the day either two Sith would remain or no Sith would.

The first possibility was something of a given; if all three were placed in a room, there would be a fight between either the master and his apprentice or the father and his son. It was the Sith way for the master to seek more powerful apprentices to buoy his own strength while the apprentice would seek ways to defeat his master and take the master's power for his own. Vader had not lied to Luke when he'd spoken of his importance; unlike Kenobi, he'd _never_ lied to the boy. Luke stood in the middle of a decades-old conflict between the Emperor and himself and the Emperor intended on forcing a choice on Luke and would use any tool and knowledge at his disposal to lure Luke to his side.

But the second possible future perplexed him, for it seemed far too implausible. The premonition hadn't arrived in the form of words, but the knowledge...the sudden _knowing_ he'd felt hadn't shed any light on why _no_ Sith would live. The possibility that the Death Star was destroyed while they were all on board or that they all somehow managed to kill one another like some ridiculous holodrama were both possibilities, however remote, but they didn't _feel_ right.

 _"His compassion for you will be his undoing."_

Had Palpatine truly foreseen that Luke would come to him voluntarily, driven by his compassion? The disdain in the Emperor's voice suggested that the boy believed he might somehow _save_ him by turning him back to the light, was that true? Darth Vader scoffed at his son's naivete. After Bespin, he'd believed his sadly misinformed son would've understood the true power of the dark side of the Force, but evidently, his son remained foolishly idealistic and firmly grounded in the light.

How could Luke even feel compassionate toward the Sith Lord who'd cut off his hand and destroyed his self-identity? To a man who'd tortured and killed his friends? How could Luke be so _weak?_ And yet he wasn't, not if the presence he'd felt on that shuttle was anything to judge by. It hadn't been long since he'd last encountered his son, not even a year, but Luke's strength seemed to have grown exponentially. Since their separation, Luke had been honing his abilities to great effect for he now possessed the sort of calm strength and control the Jedi cherished.

 _The Jedi._

Darth Vader wanted to spit just thinking about the traitors, those weak vermin who'd believed they understood the power of the Force. Were it possible, he'd bring Obi-Wan back to life just for the pleasure of killing him again; Obi-Wan Kenobi had stolen his son, filled his head with lies, had enamored the boy to the Jedi, and had led him down a path to _become_ a Jedi. His own son, willfully ignorant of the power the dark side held, and slowly, inevitably being spun into the web of Palpatine's machinations.

His son, the Jedi.

 _Two Sith or no Sith._

And therein lies the third possibility, an eventuality that offended him, that repulsed him, but one that would be tolerable compared to the outcome the Emperor most desired. But it was also one that was...complicated in its execution.

Luke's life might very well depend on whether he could be turned to the dark side; for if neither he nor the Emperor was able to do so, then Luke's liability as a Jedi would be a threat to the Emperor. Unfortunately, he was no longer confident in his ability to turn Luke, not when the boy hadn't broken on Bespin after having his dreams of a heroic Jedi for a father and his faith in Kenobi crushed. Palpatine was cunning, as manipulative as he was powerful, and his master would surely use the information to provoke his son against him.

Vader growled in frustration; he _needed_ Luke's power to destroy his master and if his son were to die, then he himself would either face his master's wrath or they'd return to their decades-old stalemate. Even worse was the abominable possibility of being killed and leaving Luke to be Palpatine's new pet. Vader hadn't feared death in a long time but the idea of leaving his son under Palpatine's leash seemed a sort of perverse cruelty that even he shied away from.

 _Two Sith or no Sith._

He wanted his son by his side and even more than that, he wanted his master dead, but he couldn't find a way to make both happen. That third possibility, the one he found so repulsive, for only _Jedi_ to remain... If Luke walked away as a Jedi leaving both he and the Emperor dead, would it be worth it? Would he sacrifice himself to kill the Emperor, saving his son in the process? Or would it be he and his master left alive, treading upon the corpse of his offspring as they sought out other ways to kill the other? If Vader no longer feared death, that didn't mean he was ready to embrace it yet.

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts and he realized that the turbolift had stopped some time ago and the door was open to allow personnel to entrance and exit. The source of the cough, a technician of some sort who looked, in equal parts, annoyed and terrified, waited impatiently to move past him to make use of the transport.

Vader observed the man, wondering exactly how much of an idiot he was. When the man put a hand to his mouth and made another polite cough, Vader has his answer. The Sith Lord reached out with the Force and lifted the man in the air. Maneuvering the man like a maestro might conduct an orchestra, the man's back bowed backward, more and more until choked protests became screams. Those screams didn't last long, however, as the man's spine broke with a sharp 'crack' when his body was folded in half.

Vader shook his head in disappointment; trying to hurry a Sith Lord might as well have been a plea for execution and far be it for him to disappoint. He stalked forward, ignoring the stormtroopers that edged along the walls to remove the body, and continued to ponder dark thoughts. The menacing aura that enshrouded him prevented any other idiotic officers from getting in his way.

 _"His compassion for you will be his undoing."_

 _Two Sith or no Sith._

He would bring his son before the Emperor and he would show Luke the power of the dark side. His son would struggle, no doubt, but Vader had learned long ago not to underestimate Palpatine and his skills of manipulation. This thought, unfortunately, merely led him to his original problem. There were few favorable paths that the future might lead him down and the premonition he'd gained through the Force set aside a possibility he'd not yet considered. He supposed that if it came down to it...perhaps a few contingency plans might be in order. Darth Vader had never been much of a planner, neither as a Jedi nor as a Sith, but he felt certain that his new realization had been something the Emperor had overlooked.

Vader triggered the comlink in his helmet.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Admiral Piett, I must speak with you in private on an urgent matter. Contact Admiral Strage and inform him that he is needed on the _Executor_ and that you're to be transferred to the _Chimaera_ to take his place. Be sure to impress upon the admiral that despite the change of ship, you will continue to retain overall command of the Fleet. Inform me if he requires...convincing."

"Of course, sir," Piett snapped out, collected as ever but unable to hide the confusion and worry about the reason for the transfer. Piett needn't have worried, if he was displeased, his punishment would not be so subtle.

Vader had gone to great lengths to cultivate the man as both a loyal and competent officer; that effort appeared to have paid off in dividends with Firmus Piett of Axxila. No other officer but Piett would even consider fulfilling the orders Vader was preparing to issue. "When you're on board, you are to inform his executive officer, Captain Gilad Pellaeon that several message drones are to be prepared for departure. He is to join us for a private meeting via holoprojector and ensure that he understands the importance of our conversation being undetected and unrecorded. I will send several documents that will contain the information that will require a level of follow-up on your parts."

"...of course, my Lord." Despite the initial hesitation wrought by the confusion about his superior officer's orders, Admiral Firmus Piett's voice was cool and confident as ever.

A reliable man, that Piett, and Pellaeon was intelligent and competent in a way few other Imperial officers were, even if the latter didn't share Piett's loyalty. If the Death Star was destroyed, if he perished and Luke somehow lived, then at least his son would know that compassion could be the undoing of more than one man.

* * *

 **Aboard the _Imperial II_ -class Star Destroyer _Chimaera  
_** **Orbiting the Forest Moon of Endor  
** **Endor system, Moddell sector**

Admiral Firmus Piett watched, white-faced and tight-lipped as the _Executor_ plunged into the Death Star like a dagger into the beating heart of the Empire. No doubt the Rebels thought it rather poetic, a metaphor Piett reluctantly conceded to be accurate. Watching the flagship of Death Squadron, the pride of the Imperial fleet, burn like that felt like a blow to the gut. Despite the anger and pain he felt, he forced himself to watch as the 300,000 plus Imperial Navy and Army personnel under his command perished in the fireball.

At his side, the gruff, silver-haired captain of the _Chimaera_ remained silent but glanced at him with a look of genuine sympathy. Firmus had never had any personal interactions with Gilad Pellaeon prior to the battle, but he'd found the man to be unfailingly polite and respectful without coming across as a bootlicker; Lord Vader had been entirely correct in his estimation of the man's reliability and intelligence as well. Piett had allowed Pellaeon to call the orders for the ship, but he himself continued to coordinate fleet actions against the Rebels. How was it that the Rebels could achieve such success when it had been _they_ who'd flown into a trap?

Looking at the holodisplay that showed the battle's progress, Piett shuddered as he glanced at the burning wreckage of the _Executor,_ knowing it'd only been Lord Vader's order that had saved him. Because of that order, not only had his life been saved, but the overall command structure of the fleet was able to remain, more or less, consistent. With both the _Pride of Tarlandia_ and the _Executor_ destroyed, command of the fleet had fallen to the _Chimaera_ where Piett's presence had sustained the fleet's cohesiveness.

The admiral's lips twisted; the Rebellion was once again proving itself to be a threat that few Imperial officers ever took seriously. That dismissive attitude wouldn't linger for any Imperial officer that was in this system, of that, Piett felt sure. There were now, however, greater problems on his mind than the _Executor,_ his opinion of Pellaeon, or of the Imperial Navy's laxidasical attitude toward the Rebellion.

With the shield generator's destruction on the forest moon, the Death Star had been rendered vulnerable, or at least as vulnerable as any armored battle station more than a hundred kilometers in diameter could be. But the Empire had learned four years ago that sometimes it only took a two-meter wide exhaust port to kill the unkillable. Now that victory for the Empire, which had seemed so _certain_ just one day ago, wasn't so certain. Imperial forces had been routed on the moon of Endor by a barely-sentient indigenous species and a handful of Rebel infiltrators. In orbit, the Rebel fleet, while less numerous and less powerful than their Imperial Navy counterparts, was holding its own by making up for their weaker capital ships with the firepower and sustainability of their admittedly impressive starfighters; the _Executor_ was a testament to the effectiveness of the strategy.

The _certain_ victory they'd all been expecting was turning more desperate and being fought for even higher stakes. For though a victory over the Rebellion in this system would likely be the end of the Rebellion itself, a Rebel victory might be enough to sway entire systems to _openly_ support their cause. And if the Death Star was destroyed...

It seemed impossible that the Rebellion should manage to destroy yet another Death Star along with a sizable portion of the Imperial forces within the sector, but the Rebellion had managed to accomplish the impossible for quite some time now. He prayed to every deity he'd ever heard of for the Death Star to survive or if it _should_ be destroyed that either Lord Vader or the Emperor would be able to escape; the orders Vader had given him...

They were not orders he wanted to obey. He wasn't sure if he could even trust himself to do so, but... Lord Vader had been a good commanding officer, one whom he'd come to respect. Never warm or kind, Lord Vader had been efficient and would reward subordinates based on merit as opposed to the officer's connections, wealth, or station. Piett refused to dismiss any order given by Lord Vader out of hand; the man wasn't stupid, surely he had to realize...he knew they were genuine but what he'd revealed and requested was...

Piett put the spinning thoughts out of his mind and watched through the viewport as one of the Rebel _Dreadnought_ cruisers exploded rather spectacularly and couldn't help his grim smile of satisfaction. Glancing back at the hologrid, he observed a TIE-Interceptor, marked by its distinctive stripes as part of the 181st Fighter Wing, engage and destroy one of the B-Wings harassing a nearby cruiser. Unfortunately, the _Carrack_ -class cruiser, one of the _Chimaera_ 's own escorts, had been sufficiently damaged by the B-Wings' payload that it was venting atmosphere.

And wasn't that just typical of the Rebellion, their accursed ability to destroy that which was so much mightier than they. Piett paused and grimaced, _and I suppose that just about sums up their entire military and political strategy for the last decade and change._

He sighed; he possessed no ability to see the future as Lord Vader did, but he would trust that the man knew what he was doing. One way or another, the Empire would endure, and if he was forced to carry out his orders, then so be it. But that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"There are Rebel snubfighters flying into the Death Star's superstructure, Admiral," Captain Pellaeon said quietly, "we've tasked Scythe squadron with their pursuit but Admiral, should they fail to destroy their quarry, the Death Star will be at considerable risk." The old man paused, look uncomfortable and anxious.

"Captain?" Piett asked quietly.

Captain Pellaeon straightened and looked his superior in the eye, "I've been unable to reach either the Emperor or Lord Vader to alert them of the danger."

"Jamming?" Piett asked with a raised eyebrow, hoping the answer was so simple.

The gray-haired man shook his head. "The signal is going through, sir, they simply aren't responding."

Piett closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. A flicker at the corner of his eye brought his attention to a short figure by the bridge's entrance. The brown-robed figure lacked any visible features other than gray-skinned hands featuring sharp claws; the creature nodded at him and disappeared in a swirl of robes.

"Vader's butchers?" Pellaeon asked disdainfully, having seen the figure as well. "They're here to enforce his orders?"

Piett elected to ignore the captain's questions and instead asked, "Captain, are the messenger drones are prepared? The other ships in the task force are aware of their orders?"

Straightening at the unvoiced reprimand, Gilad Pellaeon nodded curtly. "Yes, sir."

"Then, for now, we wait. Continue your attempts to establish contact with the Emperor and Lord Vader," Piett decreed with a false calm.

"Yes, Admiral."

Admiral Piett folded his hands behind his back and continued to watch the battle's progress, praying that he wouldn't have to carry out Vader's orders. What was even worse was the knowledge of what might befall the Empire if he _didn't._

* * *

 **Aboard the Death Star**

Anakin Skywalker gritted his teeth at the pain that licked up and down his body, managing to force air into his damaged lungs by sheer dint of will. At his side, Luke continued to help support his weight as they made their way to the hanger, but Anakin knew his time was quickly running out. Around them, stormtroopers, maintenance workers, and technicians of all types ran about, now aware of the danger the Death Star had found itself in. In fact, so consuming was their fear that he and his son were ignored as they limped their way to a Lambda-class shuttle. _Oh, how quickly the lauded discipline of the Empire has shattered,_ he mused.

He stumbled slightly when a connection to one of his artificial legs shorted out, an effect of Palpatine's barrage of Force lightning. Anakin wanted to ask Luke about his life, about his sister, wanted to know about his children, wanted to have his family. But he _didn't_ have time for that, leaving only one thing left for him to do: the right thing. What little time he had left would be spent trying to help pay what little restitution he could for the horrors and atrocities he'd visited upon the galaxy. It's what Padmè would have wanted and it's what his daughter would have _demanded_.

23 years since he'd made the worse decision of his life, first of a series of terrible decisions. The plan he'd developed in the event that Luke survived when neither he nor the Emperor had, _that_ would have to serve as his apology. Doing so would place Luke in great danger, perhaps destroy his reputation among many of his comrades, and it would weigh the boy down with a responsibility no man should have to face alone. But Luke wasn't alone and his son had proven himself to be so much stronger than he'd ever been.

 _Stop thinking and do_ , he counseled himself; before speaking to his son for the last time, he had to make sure Luke's future was secure. Lost in his thoughts, Anakin almost collapsed when he took a wobbly step but managed to right himself before continuing forward. He grimaced, Luke was going to be kriffing mad at him for the things ordered on his behalf. But Anakin was willing to risk his son's ire; his son was far too good of a person to take the necessary actions to cleanse the Empire of the filth that was so pervasive among its rich and powerful. It was almost funny that even having turned back to the light, he had no problem with planning the deaths of individuals that he, as a Sith, had compiled.

Scarcely moving his lips, he subvocalized a series of modifications to his original orders, transmitting them to the _Chimaera_ as he finished. Then there was the message he'd intended on sending to Honoghr... They should know the truth, but the knowing would place his children's lives in danger. He wanted them to serve his son, to protect him, and to kill for him if needed, but Anakin wouldn't have them do it on a foundation built on Vader's lies, not anymore. He rewrote the message the messenger drone contained, adding in a single detail that he'd shared with no one else, not even Admiral Piett.

Anakin had a daughter, one who fought against Empire, a daughter who had been forced to watch as her world burned, forced. He ignored the flare of guilt the memory ignited and continued his adjustment to the original message. The Noghri were a matriarchal society and having sired a _daughter_ who opposed _him_ , having known the pain of a destroyed world, would spark their interest even more than the existence of a son. Perhaps it might provoke enough interest that they'd seek out his children, hoping to find the help that their father had falsely delivered. Whether or not Anakin had betrayed them, they still needed to save their world and he hoped that his children would do better by the gray, reptilian race than he had.

He hissed as one of his lungs constricted suddenly and he would've toppled if not for his son. Luke held him, waited until the spasm ended and then continued their measured pace. There were more shouts and groups of people running about and Anakin had the sneaking suspicion that Moff Jerjerrod had ordered an evacuation of non-essential personnel; the man appeared to have some initiative after all. Anakin glanced up to see that he and Luke had finally made it into the hanger and were making a beeline to the nearest shuttle. He sent all of the information he'd assembled to the _Chimaera_ and nearly let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he'd made his last act one that he could be proud of.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the next, trying to ease the weight from his son but his strength was fading fast. Anakin made it all the way to the shuttle before he lost the strength to remain upright and allowed himself to fall back onto the shuttle's the ramp. He closed his eyes in relief when he received the Admiral Piett's acknowledgment and activated the comlink in his mask and opened his eyes to stare at the image of his concerned son, tinted red by his mask.

He put the comlink out of his mind to focus on what was important: his son. It was intolerable, that red washed image of his child; he _needed_ to see his son. "Luke, help me take this mask off," he gasped.

"But you'll die," his son argued, his face etched with worry.

 _"His compassion for you will be his undoing."_

There were very few times where his master's foresight had so completely failed him, but Luke had taken his master's visions and blasted them into space dust. His master's arrogance had blinded him to the other paths the future might take, to how compassion could be a strength instead of a weakness. Luke's compassion for him or his sister _could_ have been the young Jedi's doom, but it had instead destroyed Darth Vader and freed Anakin Skywalker to do what he should've done 23 years ago. Though the cost had been his life, it was a price he'd gladly pay again if it meant that Darth Sidious finally met his end.

Anakin smiled faintly, imagining that he could hear the faraway voice of Obi-Wan grumbling, _"well, it's better_ _late than never!"_

With Darth Sidious destroyed, his earlier premonition that either two Sith or no Sith would emerge victoriously had been fulfilled. No Sith remained, only the two Jedi, soon to be only one.

Anakin looked through his accursed helmet at the face of his son. He didn't deserve Luke Skywalker, didn't deserve his compassion, but Luke offered it nonetheless. _There is so much of Padmè's spirit inside of him..._

"Nothing can stop that now. Just for once...let me look on you with my own eyes." Anakin struggled to say the words, but he felt a desperate need to know the face of his son, to see the face that had saved him. He _needed_ to see the face of at least _one_ of his children and he very much doubted that his daughter would care for a reunion.

Slowly, carefully, his son finally obeyed his wishes and it wasn't long before fresh air kissed his pale. scarred skin. It wouldn't be long now till he met his end, mere minutes before he'd join the Force. He supposed it was fitting that only at the end of his life could he understand and accept Yoda's words to ' _let go of everything'_ and accept his fate.

Looking down upon him, Luke's blue eyes, so much like his own, were fastened upon his and he couldn't help the weary smile that curled his lips. That face, his _son's_ face, so much like his own but tempered by softer features that could only have come from his wife. He was perfect.

Darkness began to creep at the corners of Anakin's vision and each breath became harder and more painful. The shouts in the background made him refocus upon his son. "Now...go, my son. Leave me."

"No. You're coming with me. I can't leave you here. I've got to save you," his son stated earnestly, holding him in a desperate grip as if afraid to let go.

 _This, after everything I've done..._

"You already have, Luke. You were right about me," he took a breath and used what little strength he still possessed to turn off the comlink and whisper, "tell your sister...you were right." The blackness began to enshroud him and Anakin allowed his muscles to finally relax. His son would live and his daughter would stay safe and unknown to all but the Noghri; that was more than enough for him to die in peace.

Falling back to the ramp, he heard Luke's distant, "Father...I won't leave you!"

Anakin Skywalker let go and surrendered himself to the Force.

* * *

 **Aboard the _Chimaera_**

There are moments in every person's life that fundamentally alter who they are and what they believe, moments where they discover something that forces them to confront their self-identity. When those moments happen, the paradigm by which that person views the world will change to account for that new input, a process that can often be a messy, painful thing. Fear, bitterness, confusion, and dismay were all emotions felt quite keenly by Admiral Firmus Piett on the day the Emperor and Lord Vader died, less than a day after learning exactly who Luke Skywalker was.

Learning that Luke Skywalker was not only the offspring of Lord Vader, but that he'd been declared as Lord Vader's heir _despite_ the fact that Skywalker was actively rebelling against the current Emperor, who may or may not have wanted Skywalker dead—it was enough to give _anyone_ a headache, and Firmus Piett was no exception. Ever since he and Pellaeon had received their initial instructions the night before, the headache he'd often come to associate with Luke Skywalker had once again become a steady, unwanted companion. His overall distress had _just_ begun to wane when he'd received Vader's message informing him of the Emperor's passing, news that had fueled his dread of the battle's outcome by an order of magnitude. He kept a calm facade, of course; he was an admiral in the Imperial Navy and the day he allowed his feelings to overrule his ability to command was the day he'd resign his commission and try his hand at farming on Vjun or, if he was feeling particularly adventurous, Hoth.

In the midst of the largest space battle the galaxy had seen since the Clone Wars, the two senior officers of the _Chimaera_ had received a second message revealing that he, Lord Vader, would be assuming the throne. On the heels of that revelation, 'Emperor' Vader had informed them that he himself would soon be dead. In that seemingly endless moment, not even the crimson and emerald turbolaser blasts exchanged in the blackness of space, the exploding starfighters flashing in the viewport like fireflies, or even the cruisers fragmenting into so much space debris were able to steal their attention from Vader's words. Those words and the consequences they held for the Empire, for the entire galaxy, held him transfixed. The look of utter dread he'd shared with Pellaeon only gained a bitter edge when Lord Vader reaffirmed his desire for them to fulfill their adjusted mandate.

To Firmus Piett, one of the worst aspects of those orders was that Vader's reasoning for placing his son on the throne wasn't entirely unsound. The concept of putting _any_ Rebel in a place of power within the Empire seemed tantamount to treason—no, it _was_ treason. But for the son of Lord Vader...well that was the sort of gray area _no one_ would want to explore. Because few understood the subtleties of the Force, Skywalker would fall into the same category as his father; the boy's power and skills were unknown and mysterious and were, therefore, to be feared. As the declared heir of Lord Vader, Skywalker claimed a legitimacy to the throne no other subject of the Empire possessed.

One then had to consider all the charming, wealthy, influential, and utterly repulsive potential competitors that would be vying for power the moment word of Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader's deaths hit the HoloNet. Having met a number of the Imperial councilors, Grand Admirals, and Moffs that made up that pool, on the basis of personal appeal alone, Skywalker was by far the most preferable.

 _And doesn't that just say something about the movers and shakers of the Empire,_ Piett thought bitterly.

After he and Pellaeon had made their hesitant objections the night before, Vader had pointed out that Skywalker's...status might present an opportunity for genuine peace negotiations. Piett had been tempted to scoff at the notion, but given how poorly the Empire's current strategy of galactic peacekeeping was faring, he supposed he might've been somewhat hasty in his judgment. Peace imposed by force, a tactic that hadn't worked for the Empire since _ever_ , appeared to have lost its charm for Lord Vader. To be fair to the man's terrifying reputation, Lord Vader _had_ sounded like he'd wanted to murder somebody for the admission, but Vader had nonetheless remained adamant in his instructions.

 _One thing at a time,_ he reminded himself gloomily, _it's not over yet. The Death Star still remains and who knows, maybe the Emperor had a secret child no one ever knew about._ Piett paused and cringed at the mental picture of Emperor Palpatine playing a doting father.

The soft beep of his comlink captured his attention and he immediately activated his earpiece and tapped the device to answer. Across the bridge, he saw Pellaeon do the same.

"My Lord?" Piett asked quietly.

"Open...the channel...for the bridge," Vader ordered, panting in obvious pain as he did so. "This is for your...s-safety...and verbal affirmation...of your or-orders..."

Piett took a look at the hologrid and grimaced. They were in the middle of a _kriffing_ battle; this was _not_ the time for distractions. But orders were orders...

As if he'd heard his thoughts, Captain Pellaeon directed the _Chimaera_ 's navigation crew to take the ship to a relatively safer location within the battle group. Piett nodded approvingly and ordered a nearby _Victory_ Star Destroyer to take their place. He then pinged Vader an acknowledgment while Pellaeon accessed the nearby comm terminal as Vader had ordered.

Moments later, heavy breathing echoed throughout the bridge, but not the distinctive, artificial breathing of a man they'd all feared, but shallow, pain-filled breathing. It took a full minute for most of the bridge's occupants to comprehend that the weak, frail voice they heard was Vader's true voice, but that revelation was dwarfed by the information he divulged next. Vader didn't tell them everything, but he said enough to support the admiral's future orders, orders that many would consider treason, information that provided enough context to give the men an idea of who they might be soon calling their Emperor.

Those last words, the proof Lord Vader offered of his son's existence, were somehow more profound, more _important_ for reasons they themselves didn't understand. And so they listened in silence, privy to the last conversation between a father and his son.

#

Piett stared at the communications terminal that had broadcast the private channel to the bridge as if it had turned into one of those abhorrent Coruscanti duracrete slugs. Then again, Firmus supposed it was even worse than that; those pests didn't possess the ability to shatter an empire by their mere existence. Despite their being in the middle of a battle, the _Chimaera_ 's bridge was silent; every person had heard Vader speak to a man he'd called 'my son' just as they'd heard the other man call Lor—Emperor Vader 'Father'. The faces of the bridge crew were pale, confused, even frightened. Piett didn't blame them one bit.

"Captain Pellaeon," he said in a calm, collected voice. "Dispatch messenger drones to the predesignated points at Nirauan, Honoghr, Tatooine, and Imperial Center. Contact the captains of the _Avenger,_ _Tyrant,_ _Protector_ , and—"

There was a brilliant flash in the viewport that forced Piett to raise a hand to shield his eyes. Moments later and he discovered a spacescape that was minus one Death Star. _The Rebels did it_ , Piett thought incredulously, _they destroyed another Death Star. The Emperor, Lord Vader, the Executor, all lost. The Emperor is dead and so..._

The explosion of the Death Star had only served to punctuate how thoroughly their universe had just changed. Despite having been bombarded with the information Vader had revealed, the _Chimaera_ 's navigation officers performed admirably, maneuvering the ship out of the path of debris flung throughout the system by the Death Star's destruction. Even as they did so, Piett hastily examined the holographic display of the system, issuing orders to keep the fleet in a relatively cohesive formation but his efforts were hampered by whatever brilliant bastard was in charge of the Rebel fleet. The leader of that ramshackle fleet had taken the destruction of the Death Star as a clear signal to re-engage with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm. The Rebels had been quick to begin a ruthless pursuit of the Imperial vessels, destroying or more often disabling the already damaged ships that lagged behind.

"Sir?" Captain Pellaeon prompted, looking just as pale and shaky as he himself felt.

Admiral Piett glanced at him and nodded and looked at the holodisplay display of the battle. He inwardly cringed when he observed one of the smaller _Victory_ -class Star Destroyers nearby began to collapse under a withering barrage of turbolaser fire emanating from one of the larger Rebel Mon Calamari cruisers and two of those thrice-damned Corellian DP20 gunships.

"Is there any evidence that Skywalker made it off the Death Star?" Piett asked in a quiet but commanding voice. He didn't dare search his feelings for what he hoped the answer might be. Whatever he discovered, the orders he'd been entrusted with _would_ be fulfilled.

The communications officer placed a hand over his earpiece while he typed out various commands on his console. Piett watched the man's eyebrows furrow before stiffening and closing his eyes.

The man looked him in the eye. "Admiral, an Imperial shuttle leaving the Death Star sent a message to an A-Wing flight that was in pursuit. Com-scan only caught "Skywalker" before the Death Star...before the Death Star was destroyed. The interference from the reactor's explosion prevented us from intercepting any more of the communication. Major Rashon, of Obsidian Squadron, was able to get close enough to visually confirm the shuttle's survival as well as its being unmolested by Rebel snubfighters."

Firmus Piett took a deep breath and prepared to issue orders that might very likely result in a death sentence. "Order the ships designated by Lord Vader as Task Force Veré to recall all fighters and reassemble around Megiddo, point theta. Direct our escort ships to keep Rebel starfighters from harassing the cruisers while they disengage. Send a general order for the rest of the fleet to make best speed to Annaj to conduct repairs; command of the battle group is to fall under Admiral Blitzer Harrsk and _Ilthmar's Fist_ _._ They are to remain there until they receive further instructions. Have those messenger drones been sent?"

A young blonde-haired ensign nearby glanced up from his station. "Yes Admiral, all four messenger drones have launched and jumped into hyperspace."

"Captain—I apologize, Admiral!" a male voice called out. "Captain Pryl of the _T_ _hunderflare_ appears to be refusing your orders and is no longer responding to our communication attempts. He's withdrawing from the battle but the _Thunderflare_ 's current heading would remove it from this sector and on course for the Elrood sector instead."

"What of the escorts?" Pellaeon asked quietly.

"All but two frigates and three strike cruisers are obeying your orders," the man, a lieutenant, replied. "Those five ships haven't made any attempt to disengage from the battle."

Piett shook his head. Five minutes after the death of the Emperor and already the Imperial Navy was beginning to break.

The blonde ensign stood abruptly, catching the Admiral's attention. "Update, Admiral. The _Pulsar_ has been disabled and Rebel boarding operations are in progress. The _Accuser_ is unable to withdraw from combat and has reported a severe hull breach that is forcing them to evacuate the ship."

"I...see. Very well," Piett acknowledged, feeling very old all of a sudden. He studied the plot for a moment, feeling a pang of sadness at the _Accuser_ 's situation. He would have to leave without his old ship and trust that his crew would somehow be able to retreat from the system. He glanced at the comlink he still held in his hand and shuddered at the new weight of responsibility that had descended upon him. "Continue to organize and assemble the task force at point theta, Captain, and make the jump to Imperial Center once all ships have been accounted for. I'll be making use of your office, please join me when we've made the jump into hyperspace."

"Yes sir," Captain Gilad Pellaeon acknowledged and walked away quietly to speak with one of his bridge officers.

Firmus Piett left the bridge, lost in his thoughts of what had been lost and what the future might hold for him, for the Empire, and for the galaxy itself. He walked for a long time before arriving at a viewport in a more isolated section of the ship. There he found himself looking at the assembling group of ships, few of which had emerged unscathed from the battle. Indeed, even as he watched, a _Lancer_ frigate shed about a third of its tonnage as the aft section was ripped from the rest of the hull. Piett lowered his eyes to study the comlink still held within his hand, the comlink which had changed _everything_.

Now that he had the chance to just think, he found that he couldn't stop replaying the conversation between Lord Vader and Luke Skywalker. Even though Lord Vader had given them his orders, hearing that youthful voice call Lord Vader ' _Father'_ and then express the desire to _save_ him was... What _was_ it? Why would he feel such desperation to save a man that the majority of the galaxy loathed and fear? He wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know how someone with Skywalker's reputation had managed to cope upon learning of his father's true identity.

 _"_ The Emperor is dead...long live the Emperor, _"_ the admiral murmured.

* * *

 **Imperial City, Imperial Center  
Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

The flame-haired woman gasped, hands grasping her head at the overwhelming strength of her master's harsh, enraged voice. She closed her green eyes and gritted her teeth, ignoring the curious glances from passersby on the causeway.

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

The woman cried out and fell to her knees, feeling the bond that connected her to her master shatter upon his death. She wanted to break down and rail against the galaxy, to scream her anger at the two figures she'd seen in her master's memory who were responsible for his death, she wanted to—

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

The order reverberated within her mind, building up in intensity and pressure until all other senses had dulled. So utterly lost to the dark voice screaming its fury within her mind, that she was rendered oblivious to both the faint cheers and fireworks in the distance as well as the far nearer shouts of 'Imperial Intelligence, clear the area!'.

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

The waves of pain finally drove the woman into unconsciousness, leaving her sprawled in a heap at the center of the causeway. Despite the growing circle of concerned citizens, anyone that might've helped her was quickly discouraged by a pair of new arrivals brandishing blasters. Those new arrivals picked the flame-haired woman up and dragged her onto a nearby platform. Ungentle, black, gloved hands lifted her into the cab of a nondescript airspeeder. Seconds later, the speeder lifted off and quickly melded into the stream of ships and speeders that were a constant presence on Imperial Center.

* * *

 **The Forest Moon of Endor**

Sensing the slight disturbance in the Force, Luke managed to extract himself from the jubilant crowd surrounding the raging bonfire. He quietly edged around the perimeter of the Ewok village, searching for...

Luke smiled wryly and leaned against a tree as he saw the two shimmering forms. The two apparitions, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, gave him affectionate, proud smiles. Luke's eyebrows shot up as a third apparition began to materialize, drawing the attention of the other two. Like Obi-Wan, he wore the traditional brown robes and white tunic of a Jedi. But definitely _unlike_ Obi-Wan, the man looked young, younger than Luke even, with shoulder length hair and a scar over his right eye that gave him a distinctly roguish appearance. But no matter how young or strange the man looked, Luke knew _exactly_ who he was.

 _Father_. Luke hadn't actually spoken the word but it wasn't something that really needed to be said aloud, for it was heard just the same.

Anakin Skywalker nodded and smiled at him, a warm, gentle smile filled with both regret and love.

Luke felt slim hands wrap around his bicep and shoulder and he looked down to see Leia looking up at him with concern. Smiling at her, he laughed away her worried comment and wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing himself to be dragged back toward the laughing, dancing crowd.

A faint whisper in the Force made him glance behind him. There, Anakin was laughing at something while both Yoda and Obi-Wan appeared to be glowering at him. Not wanting to have a conversation with the Force ghosts in front of Leia, he caught his father's eye and raised an eyebrow in question.

 _"Trust Piett, my son, he is competent and loyal. But be sure to tell him that I'll be watching; he makes the funniest face when he thinks he's about to be choked. And Luke, remember what they say about great power."_

Luke furrowed his brows in confusion but nodded and smiled a half-smile as he rejoined his friends.

#

 _Anakin glanced aside to see Yoda and Obi-Wan both glaring daggers at him. "What?"_

 _"I cannot believe you," Obi-Wan muttered._

 _"What!?" Anakin asked, folding his arms defensively as he looked at the other two Jedi._

 _"Unwanted by Luke, your 'gift' will be," Yoda warned. "A burden and threat to his life, it will be."_

 _Anakin's smile dimmed and his tone gained a somber note. "Yes, which is all the more reason for him to receive it, uh—the first reason that is. If the Empire shatters completely, all of the warlords and powermongers that are sure to crop up might just leave the galaxy in an even worse state than it's in now. Besides, between Palpatine's acolytes and all of the Dark Jedi roaming around, a Jedi is just the kind of person the Empire needs to not only keep it together but also to prevent the galaxy from falling under the rule of another darksider."_

 _"But the Republic..." Obi-Wan started._

 _"Perfect, it was not," declared Yoda gruffly, tapping his gimer stick in emphasis. "Disturbing it is, to see a Jedi on a throne. Not since the days of the Jedi-Sith War has such a thing been seen. Caught between great power and being a Jedi, young Skywalker will be. A fine line between the light and dark he will have to tread._ _"_

 _Obi-Wan just grimaced. "That poor boy is going to be most unhappy with you."_

 _Anakin raised an eyebrow and said in a somewhat sour tone, "my son has been unhappy with me ever since you told him that I betrayed myself and killed myself. I imagine that was one of your 'certain point of view' moments?"_

 _Obi-Wan grumbled._

 _"I wouldn't have done this without forethought, Masters, and Luke has_ one _thing no other darksider has," Anakin murmured with a smirk._

 _Obi-Wan tilted his head._

 _"He has love, a love that belongs to his very Force-sensitive, politically-minded, stubborn sister. You think Leia would miss an opportunity like this?" Anakin asked skeptically. "I'm willing to bet that Leia will be the driving force behind many of his decisions. Assuming she does so, that grants Luke the means to train her in the ways of the Force."_

 _Obi-Wan frowned at him. "I find your argument persuasive and that annoys me."_

 _Anakin snickered._

 _Yoda harumphed. "Entertaining their faces will be, when young Skywalker's fate is revealed."_

 _All three Force ghosts started chuckling, content to watch the last of the old Jedi, the first of the new surround himself with his friends and family in celebration of their victory._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** As always, I appreciate feedback, either by PM or reviews. Feedback helps me write better stories, so if you have suggestions, complaints, or if you've found continuity or date/event/character mistakes, please let me know!

Quick FYI: I imagine most people know this, but if not: When the Empire came into being, Galactic City became Imperial City and Coruscant became Imperial Center. The Coruscant system became the Imperial Center system and Corusca sector because the Imperial sector. I'll be using both Imperial City/Galactic City and Imperial Center/Coruscant throughout the story, depending on any given character's viewpoint but I'm going to stick with Coruscant system and Corusca sector because, honestly, it's better for storytelling when I'm giving out the when/where details during story subsections.

I'm not sure how much time separated RotJ's opening scene and the rest of the movie, but I'm sticking with twelve days. I go into this more in the next couple of chapters, but there's a website I'm using to calculate travel times. Using this tool, I calculated that Luke's journey from Tatooine to Dagobah to Sullust would take about six days. The travel time from Sullust to Endor is another four days. I give Luke a couple days off to relax and take a damn shower and use the fresher that his X-Wing unfortunately lacks. Movie hyperspace is like jump in, jump out, but the literature draws it out a lot more, which is what I intend to do as well.

Vader's change of heart: I was really trying to have my story match Legends canon for as long as possible during the Death Star scenes; that is to say, I didn't want Vader to have _planned_ early on to turn to the light side in order to have some quality father-son time. I wanted him to be a Sith, I wanted his desire for Luke's presence to be more about the raw power his son could provide with a genuine loyalty that no other apprentice would offer. The whole premise of the story is about the premonition Vader had, that two or no Sith would remain. I'm basically forcing Vader's dilemma in the throne room from RotJ on him early, early enough to give Vader the ability to plan on _what if_. I'm really trying to avoid making the bad guys turn suddenly good!

I've been a Piett fan for quite some time and have always enjoyed seeing him appear in fanfiction as Vader's willing accomplice. In the books/legends universe, he's a lot more conniving that he appears in the movies, but I prefer the quiet, competent on-screen version. He didn't exactly have a lot of screentime, but I interpreted his character as a genuine believer of the Empire but with a non-malevolent demeanor; proof that not _every_ high-ranking Imperial officer out there was either pure evil, patronizing (Ozzel), or incompetent. He, Veers, Madine, Rieekan have always seemed like the best OT secondary characters and I hope to make use out of all of them but Veers (dude got his legs blown off on Hoth by Hobbie). (Shoutout to Captain Needa, Vader shouldn't have killed you/accepted your apology, that dickhead.)

Misc: The A-Wing pilot who allowed Luke to pass her from the Death Star comes from the _new_ canon: Shara Bey, the mother of Poe Dameron. If there's any confusion, Darth Vader revealed Leia's existence _only_ to the Noghri, no one else. My blurb about Mara Jade, and if revealing her identity was a spoiler, shame on you, was aligned with Legends canon. Ysanne Isard (Director of Imperial Intelligence) had her captured when she was driven comatose by Palpatine's last command/death and had hoped to brainwash Jade into serving her. Just thought I'd clear that up if you didn't understand what had happened.


	2. Chapter One

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter One**

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Holy Author's Notes, Batman! The Author's Notes sections should be starting to get less lengthy after this chapter, I know they're extremely long but I have the compulsive need to explain my reasoning for certain story elements or to provide further elaboration on Legends canon that may not be known. I made a few minor edits in the Prologue to adjust when/where labels for new sections.

A lot of the references I'll be making this chapter come from The Truce at Bakura by Kathy Tyers. The events of the novel begin a day after RotJ and though it's not explicitly stated (as far as I'm aware) what length of time the novel spans, I'd tentatively guess somewhere between 5-10 days. The novel featured the reappearance of both Obi-Wan (to Luke) and Anakin Skywalker (to Leia) as Force ghosts; I intend to incorporate both characters, in addition to Yoda, in my story. You can anticipate their recurring appearance as a sort of peanut gallery or occasionally annoying, but wise, dispensers of advice. I envision these particular dead Jedi as kindred spirits to those two old guys from the Muppets who love to heckle everyone.

 **BoE** : After the Battle of Endor: I am aware that it was the Battle of Yavin that came to be the standard for Star Wars timekeeping; I am merely using Endor for ease of storytelling. In Legends canon, a _lot_ of crap happens in the Endor system in the month following RotJ, so that's why they're still there instead of moving on (more on that later).

Writing the Prologue felt much more difficult than the following (and more original) chapters. This was partly due to my attempt to make the scenario at least halfway plausible (in execution more than character motivation). Another difficulty was trying to fit my changes into the preexisting storyline of RotJ, where I was essentially writing Anakin and Darth Vader as separate characters and trying to show how Anakin's return affected his perception of the plans he'd already set in motion as Vader. One of the hardest obstacles (and one that is likely to endure throughout the fic) is trying to capture the reactions of important Empire/Rebel personnel like Piett or Madine to the upcoming revelation. For example: How in the maker's name was Vader supposed to convince Piett/Pellaeon to follow his orders? I'll go into that next chapter.

This chapter started at 8K words and so I thought to myself, 'gee, I'm going to edit this and trim it down a bit.' So how I ended up at 14K is a mystery.

* * *

 **###**

 _"Here's where the fun begins."_  
 _— Han Solo_

 **#**

 **Two weeks after the Battle of Endor** **  
Aboard the EF76 Nebulon-B escort frigate _Redemption  
_ Endor planetary orbit, Endor system**

Luke ached _everywhere_.

He was willing to admit, to anyone other than his fiercely overprotective sister, that he hadn't _quite_ been fully recovered from the Emperor's onslaught on the Death Star before undertaking his mission to Bakura the very next day. Even now, two weeks later, just thinking about the Emperor made his body ache at the memory of electricity scalding his skin. If the torture hadn't been bad enough, the attack had resulted in micro-seizures that plagued his body with trembling muscles and a seemingly perpetual, bone-deep ache. Unfortunately, events in the galaxy hadn't paused just because he'd been injured and just a day after the battle, a message drone had arrived from the Bakura system with a plea for help. Though he'd wanted to go with Han and Leia to Bakura, High Command had argued that, as injured as he was, he wouldn't be able to execute his duties with the limited treatment he'd received. In the end, he'd reluctantly agreed to stay behind.

Nobody had counted on the intervention of a deceased Jedi Master, however, and Obi-Wan's visit later that night had made it quite clear that Luke's presence would be needed on the mission. To Luke's surprise, citing the words of Obi-Wan Kenobi's spirit to High Command had been a successful, if awkward, tactic. He'd been even more surprised when Admiral Ackbar and Chief of State Mon Mothma had gone so far as to place him in command of the task force; far be it from they to argue with a Jedi, even the ghost of one, after all.

It was a testament to Luke's growing strength and expanding abilities as a Jedi that by the time his task force had entered the Bakura system, his novice attempts to heal himself with the Force had been successful enough to perform his duties as both an Alliance commander and as a Jedi. In fact, they'd been successful enough that he'd engaged both Imperial troops and the heretofore unknown aliens, the Ssi-ruuk, in close combat.

It'd been the Ssi-ruuk's attack on the Imperial-occupied system that had prompted the plea for help in the first place, a plea that was supposed to have been heard by the Empire's forces at Endor. The unexpected arrival of an Alliance task force with news of the Emperor's death and the crushing defeat the Empire had suffered at Endor had been...stressful. But with the invading Ssi-ruuk on the planet's doorstep, the system's Imperial governor had been willing, however reluctantly, to form a truce with the Alliance against the greater threat. The truce had been tentative, upheld primarily through Leia's efforts and had lasted just long enough for Governor Nereus to betray Luke and eventually the rest of the Alliance. Despite Nereus and the Ssi-ruuk's best efforts, Luke had persevered and overcome all challenges but...he still hadn't been able to escape uninjured.

Arriving back in Endor, the Alliance medics had taken one look at him and seemed astonished that he was even capable of breathing. Luke had calmly stated that the power of a bunch of overgrown lizards and parasites were insignificant next to the power of the Force.

They'd laughed in his face.

Despite his protests, Luke _was_ aware that he'd overtaxed himself during the battle of Bakura, to the extent that he was even weaker than he'd been before leaving Endor. The mental and physical exertion of battle would've been exhausting enough, but Nereus's attempt to kill him by means of a meal laced with Olabrian trichoid larvae had come within a hair's breadth of succeeding. His physical pain had been joined by an ache in his heart, a wound that was inflicted by the death of Dev Sibwarra.

Luke sighed regretfully. _Dev Sibwarra..._

The boy had done terrible things without his understanding, who'd been brainwashed into acting as the Ssi-ruuk's agent. A boy who possessed such sensitivity to the Force that Luke could feel the inner light just waiting to be freed of the web of lies cast by the Ssi-ruuk and Luke _had_ freed Dev Sibwarra and had seen Dev's salvation. Unfortunately, he'd been the _only_ one to witness it, for the boy died only a short time later, leaving his legacy to be one of hatred and resentment. His was a name hated by every Bakuran for his betrayal of humanity to the 'Fluties'. Hated by every Alliance and Imperial officer who'd seen the horrors of entechment. Hated by everyone, even the lovely, kindhearted Gaeriel Captison.

Everyone but Luke.

Luke supposed it was going to be a common theme of his life, saving and then losing people with good in their hearts but loathed by all others. He halted his thoughts and grimaced. _Stang, this is entirely too depressing for this time of day, even for me,_ he thought grouchily and shook off the gloom that had fallen over him like a veil.

Setting his dark thoughts aside, Luke returned to the unpleasant reality of aching _everywhere_ and, as a consequence, having to deal with an irritable, worried sister who believed it was her sacred duty to take him firmly to task for every bump and bruise. Leia's less than pleased reaction to Han calling her a 'worrywart' and his declaration that 'the kid could take care of himself' resulted in a subdued Han approaching him the next day, privately advising him to just to live with it and allow Leia to make up for lost time in being a loving, caring sister. He seemed to be repeating the words as if they'd been memorized, so Luke was willing to wager that Leia had threatened to do something terrible to the _Falcon_ if Han refused to see things her way.

"I swear, Luke, the next time a Force ghost tells you that you just _need_ to go somewhere, I'm going to tie you to a bacta tank and dunk you inside every _single_ time you say 'I'm feeling fine, Leia!' after you _inevitably_ get hurt! Stars! I should've realized when you somehow managed to run into the _only_ aggressive wildlife on _Hoth_ of all place that you should have a medic permanently assigned to you!"

"If you don't mind my saying so, Your Highness, I don't believe that would be a practical solution," C-3PO stated diplomatically.

Leia slowly turned to the protocol droid and crooked a finger. "Come here for a moment, Threepio, there's something on your neck," the last Princess of Alderaan purred.

"There is!? Oh my, please get it off!" Threepio exclaimed in horror, quickly shuffling to Leia for aid.

Luke opened his mouth but Han gave him a warning look, shaking his finger. Luke frowned and sighed in resignation.

"Come stand right here," Leia murmured, slowly maneuvering Threepio into a corner.

There was a series of beeps and titters from the R2 series astromech droid on the opposite side of Luke's bed which froze the protocol droid in its tracks. "R2-D2, what do you mean, 'it's a trap—'"

When his sister reached up and switched the gold-plated droid off, both she and Han sighed in relief while Artoo blew a raspberry at the deactivated droid.

With the distraction presented by the protocol droid effectively neutralized, Leia turned back to him and resumed berating him as if she'd never paused, just as she'd been doing for the last _three days_.

 _Loving sister indeed._ Luke closed his eyes and sighed, allowing Leia's rant to wash over him like a warm breeze. Well, less of a warm breeze really, Luke supposed, wincing at some of her more colorful invective, no, more like a swarm of piranha beetles scenting blood in the air. He'd been on the _Redemption_ for the last three days and was still confined to the infirmary, not because he wasn't well enough, but because Leia threatened to have Rieekan declare him medically unfit for duty. Having been present on the _Redemption_ to check up on Luke and other injured soldiers, General Carlist Rieekan hadn't even batted an eyelash when he agreed to Leia's terms, the traitorous bastard. But in truth, the rest _had_ been good for him and even if he'd already physically healed he was thankful for the opportunity to meditate in peace.

"Luke Skywalker, are you even listening to me!" Leia hissed loudly in his ear.

 _Perhaps 'peace' should be left open to interpretation,_ Luke thought wryly.

A suspicious, amused sound on the opposite side of the room made Luke crack an eye open. Sitting in a chair by the room's doorway, Han had a strategically placed hand over his mouth, concealing what Luke just _knew_ to be the man's trademark smirk. Unfortunately, it wasn't just Han who'd taken a position by the doorway, meaning it was one of _them_ who was responsible.

 _Them_. The Twin Terrors of the Alliance, the Man-Children of the Alliance Starfighter Corps, Rogue Squadron's Architects of Malevolent and Amusing Deeds. _Them._

If Han was reluctant to express his amusement overtly, the two men standing at the door of the infirmary had no such compunction about concealing their delight. Rogue Squadron veterans Wes Janson and Derek 'Hobbie' Klivian stood there, watching the scene with an urchinlike glee. Wearing their standard green Alliance fatigues, the two pilots could've been described as dashing but they'd developed the power to make even the fanciest of formal wear look vaguely sarcastic and mocking. Now both of those 'dashing' individuals were openly snickering at Luke's predicament, clearly on the verge of outright _giggling_ at Leia's ability to handle their former squadron leader.

Leia frowned, her expression turning thunderous as she whirled upon them. Rather than be intimidated, both men broke into applause, wolf-whistling and cheering Leia on. Janson even went so far as to request a recording for progeny and the rest of Rogue Squadron while Hobbie nodded his approval, still clapping enthusiastically.

A corner of Leia's mouth quivered but Luke felt her tamp her amusement down by sheer force of will. Leia pointed two imperious fingers at them. "Kitchen duty for a month unless you leave _now."_

Both men paled in the face of her wrath and, knowing a losing battle when they saw one, raised their hands in surrender. Unwilling to be added to Her Royal Shitlist, the two men conducted a fast retreat without another word. Leia crossed her arms in satisfaction but maintained her frown as she turned to Han a few moments later. The smuggler turned Alliance general immediately smoothed his amused expression into a bland mask that practically _oozed_ innocence. Still frowning, she turned back to Luke and he had to swallow a groan when she opened her mouth, clearly intending to resume berating him, going so far as to actually begin shaking a finger at him.

"Hey Boss, did ya hear?! We got another Emperor for you to kill!" The familiar voice had delivered the words in a near shout from down the hall but the words and rapid footsteps became louder and louder until Wedge Antilles finally burst into the room.

Upon stepping into the room, the brown-haired owner of that Corellian accented voice stumbled to a halt and added a belated, "ah, afternoon General Solo...Your Highness."

"Wedge, you call me 'General' again and I _might_ be gracious enough to allow you a five-second head start before I hunt you down and blast you into atoms," Han warned dryly, tapping his holstered blaster pistol with a finger for emphasis.

"Right, of course, Han, I just figured with the _Falcon_ looking like she does that you needed at least _some_ veneer of respectability," Wedge replied demurely. "You know, like Calrissian?"

"Why you—" Han attempt to stand, only to be pushed back into his chair by Leia.

"Cool it, hotshot," the Princess ordered with an authoritative tone, but it was tempered by her soft smile. Turning a suspicious eye toward Luke, as if expecting him to be risking life and limb at any moment, Leia huffed out a breath and sat on the chair next to Han. "Commander Antilles, it's particularly good to see you, especially after being visited by those two degenerates you call squadmates. Now tell us, what is it that we were supposed to have heard? A new Emperor?"

Wedge grimaced. "Hobbie and Janson were here? On behalf of everything good and decent in the galaxy, you have my apologies." The commanding officer of Rogue Squadron glanced at Luke with an open, friendly smile. "We'll get to the Emperor in a moment, first things first. How ya feelin', Boss?"

"I'm feeling fine, Wed—"

Han barked out a laugh and Luke snapped his mouth shut when Leia almost _growled_ at him. Luke rolled his eyes. "I'm feeling terrible, Wedge, just awful. Thank the stars that Leia has taken it upon herself to see to it that I receive proper medical attention. What ever would I do without her?"

There was a long pause after that and Luke watched sourly as Wedge screwed up his face in an obvious effort to avoid laughing. After several loud coughs, he asked hoarsely, "moving on to business then, so you didn't hear about the new Emperor then?"

Luke, Leia, and Han shook their heads in unison.

" _New_ Emperor?" Luke groaned. "What about Pestage? Shavit! I'd finally gotten used to the idea of _him_ being the new Sleemo-in-Charge!"

Leia frowned, more in thought than in worry. "Without a line of succession, we'd hoped Palpatine's death would cause the system to break down because of the inevitable power struggles but even this seems a little...sudden. Who made the announcement? And when?"

"Some bureaucrat on Coruscant who claimed to represent an unnamed 'senior ranking officer of the Imperial Navy'," Wedge replied blandly. "Made the announcement on Coruscant just a few days ago, but we only just received the info dump. I expect you'd have heard from Mothma or one of the others if you'd been on _Home One_ but I bet you'll be getting a message from High Command soon."

"How did Pestage get deposed?" Luke wondered.

"With extreme violence," Wedge stated with a satisfied smile.

Leia nodded, frowning as she considered Wedge's news.

"Some Grand Admiral looking to set himself up as Emperor? Well color me surprised," Han muttered while rolling his eyes. "I'm just surprised it took them so long to toss Pestage's worthless carcass out."

"Actually, that wasn't the impression High Command received, according to Madine. The "official" stated that a task force was being assembled for the purpose of _retrieving_ and escorting the _legitimate_ Emperor back to Coruscant," Wedge explained, placing heavy emphasis on 'legitimate'. "For the purpose of keeping whoever the new Imperial Sleemo-in-Charge safe, they're keeping his identity and location secret and are unwilling to declare when they expect his arrival or coronation."

"Well, that's...weird," Han said with his usual bluntness. "I figured with a new Emperor they'd be all officious and hold parades or something equally grandiose if they had any genuine desire to keep the Empire together. What did Cracken have to say about it?" Han asked.

" _General_ Cracken," Wedge answered dryly, giving Han a frown of mock-disapproval at the ex-smuggler's informality, "is in, as Janson calls it, 'a tizzy'. Alliance Intelligence doesn't have a clue as to who would be a legitimate heir and were of the same opinion as Her Highness here that there _wasn't_ any true line of succession. That was half the appeal of knocking off the Emperor in the first place; without him, the Empire would splinter apart. But it looks like the idea of there being an Emperor that has both the military's backing and being a complete mystery to the Imperial Court has placed everyone's plans for galactic domination on hold until they get a closer look at him."

Wedge paused, directing his attention to Leia. "Speaking of galactic domination, that reminds me of something Hobbie managed to wheedle out from one of the Intel spooks." Seeing Leia's alarmed look, Wedge shook his head, "it's not considered secret, Your Highness, there just hasn't been any official announcement about it."

"Good." Leia sighed in relief. "The day Hobbie begins cajoling classified information from Alliance Intelligence agents will be the day General Cracken shoves him out an airlock."

Wedge winced but didn't disagree. "Hobbie's information correlates to a news story we received a few hours ago over the HoloNet." Glancing at Leia, he added, "not that I don't crave Luke's presence with my every breath, one of the main reasons I'm here was to talk to you, Your Highness. General Cracken knew I was heading to the _Redemption_ and asked me to give you the preliminary details and inform you that High Command will be holding a meeting to discuss the situation tomorrow at 15:00."

Wedge withdrew a datapad from a side pocket and held it out for Leia. Leia stood up and moved to take the proffered datapad, examining it briefly before returning to her seat next to Han. Tilting her head at Wedge, Leia asked softly, "Tell us what you know, Commander Antilles."

Wedge unconsciously straightened at Leia's use of his rank, "Your Highness, as I said, the information Hobbie coaxed wasn't, by any means, classified. But it was significant because it was a collection of data that reveals an uptick in murder in the Core and particularly Coruscant—"

Han interrupted Wedge with a snort and blandly stated, "Wedge, people turning up dead on Coruscant isn't exactly news."

Wedge gave him an impatient look. "Not the kinda people Hobbie described, Han. We're talking about the kind of people that the Alliance would _love_ to see dead getting knocked off on Coruscant and throughout the Core. We don't know who, but someone called open season on the rich and vile."

"And you're willing to trust _Hobbie_ on this?" Han asked skeptically.

"Hobbie was willing to offer the sacred promise," Wedge stated solemnly.

"'Sacred promise'?" Leia echoed.

"Pinky swear," Luke and Wedge said in unison.

"Or approximate physical gesture from species lacking digits or whose culture views the gesture as offensive," Luke added dutifully.

Leia rolled her eyes.

Han chuckled for a moment before turning serious, "How high up is this going, Wedge? And how many deaths are we talking about?"

"Thousands, Han, thousands. Bureaucrats, politicians, and military officers; all of whom are influential, powerful, and high ranking."

Leia's eyes narrowed. "Someone's cleaning up house...the new Emperor?" she guessed then frowned, "but that would but burying most of the Empire and Emperor's strongest supporters."

Wedge shrugged and lifted both hands in the air in a 'who knows?' gesture.

"Do you know any of those who've been assassinated?" Luke asked softly.

Wedge nodded. "And that's where Hobbie's story ties in with the news burst that High Command is buzzing over, some type of accident that occurred in the Imperial Palace. 'Accident' in this instance, is a euphemism for _massacre_. Pestage, most of the Ruling Council, at _least_ two Grand Admirals, and several Grand Moffs were confirmed to be among the causalities. And we _know_ there were other visiting high-ranking officers whose identity we've been unable to determine," Wedge replied, just as softly.

"A massacre in the _Imperial Palace_?" Leia hissed. "With Pestage being one of the targets? It _has_ to be the new Emperor unless there's _another_ person with that sort of capability trying to make their own play for the throne."

"So...do we owe the new Emperor a fruit basket for his excellent work in cleaning out the trash or is this just some prelude to having someone even more ugly and vile than Palpatine turn up?" Han asked.

Wedge shrugged. "Don't know, but whatever purge is going on has everyone in the Empire walking very softly. Hobbie said Intel heard that at least three Star Destroyer captains and their executive officers were all found in their quarters with slit throats but that's been categorized as a rumor."

Han whistled in surprise. "Rumor or not, whoever's running this show probably won't have much trouble getting the top dogs to fall in line, not anymore at least."

Luke nodded his agreement. Palpatine had ruled the Empire through fear, cruelty, and hate backed with the considerable power and influence he wielded as a Sith Lord. It hadn't even been a month and someone was already stepping into his shoes well enough that the system might fall back into place again.

Memories of evil laughter, a shadowed throne room, and the smell of ozone as lightning tore into his body flickered into Luke's mind and he had to make a conscious effort to keep afloat of the memories that threatened to drown him. Shaking off the weight of the memory, he recalled the disturbance he'd felt through the Force two days ago and experienced a moment of unshakable dread and certainty that this disturbance and the new Emperor were connected.

 _Gods, please don't let it be someone as bad as Palpatine,_ Luke thought desperately.

Leia turned to him sharply, a concerned expression on her face but Luke just shook his head, avoiding her gaze. Turning to Wedge, Luke searched for something a little less morbid to talk and think about.

"So, Wedge, what are the Rogues up to today?" Luke asked loudly, cringing at his lack of subtlety. Seeing that Leia's eyes hadn't wavered from his and sensing her clumsy attempts to probe his thoughts, Luke almost swore aloud. _Leia's not going to let that go, I just know it. As if it weren't bad enough when all she had to rely on was intuition, now she has just enough awareness of the Force that hiding anything from her will be a kriffing pain._

Wedge smirked at him for the clumsy nonsequitur before he finally shrugged. "We have the day off. I was here to deliver the news about the Imperial Palace to Her Highness, and then to check on you and Kirst; she's still pretty broken up by Wister's death. I'm guessing Janson and Hobbie are here to do likewise though in an undoubtedly egregious fashion. I'll probably end up having to put Janson and Hobbie on kitchen duty within the next hour or two, so that'll be a plus. Aside from that, Rogues have more clean up duty tomorrow." Wedge shook his head in amazement. "Two weeks later and we're still finding disabled shuttles, drifting escape pods, lost Imperial troops on the surface, conducting repairs on our ships and on captured ships, and recovering all the scavengable materials a Rebellion—sorry, that's _Alliance of Free Planets—_ could ever want." Wedge replied, then waggled his eyebrows. "And what about our own Jedi mascot?"

Luke glared at the Corellian. Leia sighed, not bothering to conceal her amusement as she rested her head on Han's shoulder; the former smuggler just smirked at Luke. After a moment of consideration, Luke admitted, "I'm confined to the bed for the morning—Leia's orders—but I was going to spend time meditating—"

A chorus of eye rolling, groans, and an electronic raspberry met his answer. Luke turned his head and raised an eyebrow at Artoo, who delivered a scathing lecture in binary.

"Stang, Luke, even Artoo agrees! Becoming a Jedi made you _boring!_ " Wedge accused, his tone exasperated but laced with a hint of seriousness as well. "Why don't you come hang out with the Rogues tonight on _Home One_? You too, Han, Your Highness. We were planning on having a bit of a party tonight anyway!"

By his side, Artoo beeped excitedly, clearly pleased with the idea.

"See Kid? How can you argue when even the tin can wants to join in?" Han exclaimed, eliciting a derisive 'blat' from the aforementioned droid. Han ignored Artoo and gave Wedge a thumbs up.

Leia cleared her throat and looked pointedly at Luke, or more accurately, the infirmary's flotation bed upon which Luke lay.

"If you're feeling up to it, of course," Wedge Antilles added quickly, looking relieved when Leia nodded in regal satisfaction.

Wedge opened his mouth to say something then paused and tilted his head. "Hey, where's your furry accomplice, Solo? Didn't see him workin' on the _Falcon_ when I was on _Home One_ earlier, think he'll be up for coming?"

Han huffed out a breath. "On his way to Kashyyyk to catch up with the Missus. Now that we finally have a bit of a breather, Chewie wanted to take some 'personal time' with Malla and Lumpy."

Wedge raised an eyebrow, "just like that? Not worried about the blockade?"

"Not really," Han replied, shrugging, "Cracken says the blockade currently consists of a lightly-armed orbital platform and either a Star Destroyer or an Interdictor, either way, it's nothing Chewie can't handle..." Han trailed off with a shrug, "When we captured the _Adjudicator_ , we found a Sector Ranger ship in the main hanger, one of those _Law_ patrol ships. _O_ _fficially_ Chewie will be ferrying a platoon of Madine's Pathfinders to Kashyyyk to case the planet, see if we can liberate it without too much fuss, but Chewie made it clear to Madine that he'd find someone else to act as a guide for the Pathfinders while he sees to his family."

"And because no one likes to attract negative attention from the Sector Rangers..." Luke waved a hand to Leia.

"...Governor Darcc will stay out of their way in order to avoid the Rangers' close scrutiny over his less than legal activities," Leia finished. Unconsciously placing a hand on Han's thigh as reassurance, she added confidently, "there won't be much risk to Chewie or the others until they're planetside conducting surveillance."

Wedge huffed out a laugh, "and anything that wants to go after the Pathfinders will have to go through the Wookiees first,"

Han snorted. "The Wookiees have _always_ been ready to revolt but orbital bombardments tend to put a stop to that _real_ quick. The Pathfinders just need to find out what kind of support the Empire has in the system and so long as we can take out the Navy, the Wookiees shouldn't have a problem handling the rest."

#

After a few more moments of small talk, Wedge approached Luke's bed and patted Luke's arm. "Alright, Master Jedi, I suppose I better leave you to Her Highness's tender care. Feel free to _meditate_ upon the fact that we'll be drinking a few bottles of the Whyren's Reserve stash we found in Grand Admiral Teshik's stateroom. Hobbie's been talking about some new drinking game, too, it'd be a shame if you missed it."

With that last parting shot, the intrepid leader of Rogue Squadron sauntered from the room, turning right at the junction. Moments later, to Luke, Leia, and Han's amusement, Wedge came striding back into view, now in the company of a striking, purple-skinned, blue-haired Zeltron. The Zeltron, one of the _Redemption_ 's navigation officers judging by the uniform, was blushing and giggling at Wedge's animated and elaborate self-introduction. Just before disappearing from view, Wedge turned his head and winked at Luke and the others.

Luke shook his head, smiling ruefully.

"So...Imperial assassinations, new Emperors, and Luke's ability to call sleeping 'meditation' aside, seems like a normal day in the Rebellion," Han commented with a shrug. Glancing at Leia, he offered her a woebegone expression as he sighed despairingly. "I suppose, with me being a general and all, I ought to make sure the Rogues don't get into _too_ much trouble with their party. It's the responsible thing to do," the smuggler added gravely. Leaning over, he gave Leia a kiss on the lips before standing up from his seat and stretching until there was an audible 'pop'. "I better go make sure the Rogues' preparations are conducted safely and responsibly."

Leia sniffed disdainfully, not bothering to offer a reply.

"Take care, Kid, don't let Her Worshipfulness fuss over you too much."

Luke smiled and gave his friend a two-fingered salute. His sister, on the other hand, scowled at her lover but there was a smile in Leia's eyes that betrayed her feelings. That smile spread to her lips when Han winked and blew her a kiss as he left the room in his usual strut.

When she turned back around, Luke couldn't help but grin at her.

"What?" she asked, immediately feeling defensive.

"The two of you are just so _cute,"_ Luke teased.

"Oh, shut up," Leia scowled and stood to scoot her chair closer to Luke. Sitting back down, she propped an arm on his bed to rest her chin upon. Pursing her lips, she considered her brother carefully. "You can't fool me, you know, I can tell something's wrong. What's troubling you?" she asked, putting her other hand on top of his leg in a comforting gesture.

Luke gave his sister a rueful smile. "Leia, I've rarely been able to 'fool you', not since the day we met." His smile gradually dimmed as he considered his next words. "Mostly just bad memories...of Palpatine and the Death Star."

"Mostly?" Leia pounced. "I won't let up until you tell me."

The Jedi let out a thoroughly aggravated noise that made Leia smile. "Fine, it's just—" Luke sighed. "Since returning from Bakura, I've sensed a...disturbance."

Leia wrinkled her nose and smiled mischievously. "A disturbance? Has it really been that long, Luke? It's called repression and I _told_ you that you should've given Gaeriel a chance."

Luke blushed but still managed to scowl at his sister. "I'm serious Leia! There's something...something's going to happen."

Leia smile gradually dimmed until she was giving him a flat stare. "Truly, Luke, you must be an oracle to possess such foresight," she sneered. "Good? Bad? Anything that's actually helpful?"

Luke hunched his shoulders and looked down at the cloth of the infirmary's bed and began to pick at it rather than respond. He knew that his sister respected his abilities and strength in the Force but with that acknowledgment came the insecurities stemming from her own newly revealed heritage. The fear of her own bloodline sometimes manifested itself in her attitude toward him. Luke understood, he'd dealt with the exact same fear and anger in the months following his encounter with his father on Bespin but that didn't make her occasional snide comments any less hurtful.

A moment later and the hand that had rested upon his leg moved to settle on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Luke."

Luke just nodded, frustrated by his own inability to articulate what he'd sensed into words. "I don't know anything specific, Leia. Things seem to be even more...nebulous than usual and the Force hasn't exactly ever been so kind as to provide a time, place, and description for these things. Whatever it is, Leia, it—it feels like the galaxy is holding its breath, like there's potential simmering, just waiting to be let out and molded for...something." Luke shrugged helplessly.

"You're thinking it's the new Emperor and that he might've caused the disturbance?" Leia guessed, frowning as she considered his words. "You didn't say that it felt dark..." Leia paused, waiting for his nod of affirmation before she continued, "so maybe there's hope. The idea of a new Emperor's presence offering a potential for _positive_ change in the galaxy seems...unlikely, especially in light of Wedge's story. But...who knows, maybe there's a diamond in the rough somewhere close to Palpatine that we all somehow missed."

Luke let out a deep breath, berating himself aloud, "I shouldn't let myself be too distracted by the disturbance I felt. Whatever will happen, will happen and I'd be better served by concentrating on the here and now. Master Yoda used to say that 'always—"

Groaning loudly, Leia interrupted him with an annoyed huff as she stood, glowering at him. Yanking off the bed sheets, she grabbed his arm and tugged at him until his feet hung over the bed. "Gods, Luke, Wedge was right, training to be a Jedi must've been a subtle training regimen for becoming a boring, old hermit." Leia leaned down and placed both hands on his cheeks maneuvering his head until they stared at each other's faces. "Look me in the eyes, Luke Skywalker, and tell me if you're feeling well enough to leave this bed."

Hiding his amusement, Luke looked into his sister's implacable brown eyes. "Leia, I could've walked out of here on my own _the day you stuffed me in here._ Yes, I'm feeling well enough to leave, now please get me out of here and call Rieekan off."

Leia exhaled a long-suffering breath. "Alright then, brother mine, get up; I'm breaking you out of this place and taking you to Han and the Rogues. Hopefully, they'll be able to breathe some life into that sense of humor that you let wither and die." Tossing him his favored Jedi uniform, she smiled mischievously as she mock-whispered, "in fact, if you can resist spouting off Jedi maxims for the next ten hours you _might_ even find a nice lady friend to help you with your little repression issue."

"Leia!"

* * *

 **One week later  
** **Aboard the MC80 star cruiser _Home One  
_** **Endor planetary orbit, Endor system**

Luke's eyes shot open and he bolted upright as the sudden surge of shock, anxiety, fear, anticipation, and determination radiating from the thousands of nearby beings washed over him. Luke scrambled out of bed, buoyed by the knowledge that _something_ must've happened. His haste worked against him, however, and he cursed when his own bed sheets stymied his progress. To his further embarrassment, after he _did_ free himself he nearly slipped on the floor, surprised by the piercing 'general quarters' alarm that began to wail throughout _Home One._

"Fierfek!" Luke swore in frustration, though even he was unsure if he was swearing at the alarm, his clumsiness, or possibly the universe as a whole for interrupting his sleep.

Luke forced himself to stop and managed, with great effort, to calm himself, taking deep, steady breaths. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses again, frowning as he took in the growing confusion and panic stemming from his comrades but unable to sense any true imminent danger. Making a quick decision, he set his flight suit aside in favor of his black Jedi garb, clipped on his lightsaber and comlink and dashed to the threshold of his quarters.

He paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder at the faithful R2 unit trailing dutifully behind him. "Artoo, get to the _Falcon_ and run the diagnostics test you were going to perform later. When you're finished, get to my X-Wing and warm it up; I don't know if I'll be flying but have it ready just in case!"

Artoo issued a series of high-pitched beeps.

"Don't worry, Artoo, I'll be fine just make sure the _Falcon_ can actually fly if it needs to!"

An affirmative beep.

With that, he palmed the door open and darted out into the hallway nearly colliding with a white-uniformed Mon Calamari officer who was running down the equally pristine white corridor that ran perpendicular to his room's entrance. Luke jerked back just in time to avoid the grim-faced officer before he cautiously glanced around the corner. Sprinting in his direction was a pilot wearing a standard orange flight suit alongside a fully kitted out Alliance marine squad. Two equipment-laden gravsleds were being shuttled a short distance behind, likely en route to one of the _Katarn_ boarding shuttles with the marines.

Recognizing the pilot, Luke elected to stay in the safety of his quarters' threshold and waited until the pilot was within range before snagging the man by his flight suit. Before the pilot even had a chance to protest, Luke dragged him into the relative safety of the alcove outside of his quarters.

"Luke!" The surprised yelp belonged to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Alderaanian pilot whose callsign was Rogue Nine. "I was just on my way to find you!"

"Tycho! What's going on?" Luke shouted, struggling to make himself heard over the din of the alarm.

"Imp fleet just dropped out of hyperspace about 15 light-minutes out. Ackbar wants Rogue Squadron to form a fighter screen with Red, Corona, and Green squadrons. Blue, Gold, and Gray are on standby with the rest of the heavy assault squadrons," his friend answered grimly. Tycho pointed the way he'd came and shouted, "get to the bridge, Boss, General Rieekan's orders."

Luke's stomach dropped at the news of the arriving Imperial fleet before an even more troubling thought occurred to him. _If the Imps just jumped in, why don't I feel_ _like we're in danger?_ Bringing his attention back to Tycho, he asked, "why do they need me?"

Tycho flashed him a quick smile and brushed the back of his hand across Luke's black vest. He then leaned in and yelled, "General Rieekan and Chief of State Mothma want the wise council of their Jedi and his woo-woo!"

Luke glared at Captain Tycho Celchu, who just smiled unrepentantly at him. "I see your lips move, Tycho, but I hear Janson's voice. Stop it, it's creepy. You have any idea what 'wise counsel' Rieekan expects from me?"

Tycho lost his smile and gave Luke an unhappy, confused expression. "He probably wants some insight on figuring out what in the blazes the Empire is playing at!"

Luke furrowed his brows, allowing his eloquent 'huh?' expression do his talking for him.

"They aren't doing anything! That fleet dropped out of hyperspace and hasn't so much as sneezed since!" Tycho yelled, sounding as exasperated as he did alarmed. The Alderaanian sighed and bumped Luke's shoulder with his fist encouragingly before hurrying off in the hanger's direction. "May the Force be with you, Luke!"

"And with you!" Luke returned and carefully made his way toward the nearest turbolift as he contemplated Tycho's news. The disturbance he'd been feeling for more than a week hadn't abated at all and had, in fact, been getting steadily more insistent. It was almost like an itch that he just couldn't quite reach or a burr under the skin. But now that an Imperial fleet had arrived, Luke could almost feel whatever was being hidden being brought to the surface. He sighed, shook his head, and straightened his shoulders. Whatever strategy this new Emperor chose to bring against them, whatever fresh surprise was held in store for the Alliance, he and his comrades would be ready and they would persevere, just as they always did.

* * *

To his relief, by the time he'd stepped onto the bridge, the alarm had been silenced and in its stead were shouted orders and frantic conversations. Feeling Leia's close presence, he made his way toward her and the rest of the Alliance High Command to where they stood clustered around the holoprojector. There they studied a realtime projection of the system, complete with Imperial and Alliance fleet movements.

The first to turn and greet him was General Rieekan and though he wasn't strictly part of Alliance High Command, he was prominent and respected enough that he'd earned his right to be there. Luke was relieved to see him; Rieekan had long been a supporter of his efforts to become a Jedi and the older Alderaanian was one of the few higher ranked Alliance officers who'd respected Han _before_ the Battle of Endor. Carlist also regarded Leia as something of a daughter, a sentiment that was reciprocated by Leia after the destruction of their planet. Ignoring Luke's lack of uniform, Rieekan greeted him with a warm smile and shook his hand without hesitation

"Commander Skywalker! Excellent, Captain Celchu must've found you. I apologize for the personal summons but Captain Celchu was at hand and between comtraffic and the alarm, well, he was the fastest means of contacting you," General Rieekan explained.

"Quite so," Mon Mothma began in her soft, graceful manner of speech, "your thoughts on the situation would be most appreciated."

Luke was able to admit to himself that he was grateful for the alarm's silence because he was halfway convinced that Mon Mothma, Chief of State of the newly established Alliance of Free Planets, wasn't even _capable_ of doing something so undignified and pedestrian as shouting. The very idea of her doing so felt intrinsically wrong, like a violation of the natural order of things.

"Of course, ma'am," Luke replied quietly, dismissing such thoughts from his mind. _Keep your mind on the here and now_ , he coached himself then immediately grimaced.

Only recently had he discovered just how often he quoted Master Yoda, Obi-Wan, or the other teachings he'd come across. For that, he had Wedge Antilles and Wes Janson to thank because the party he'd attended the previous week had indeed featured a drinking game invented by Janson, a game that focused on _Luke_ , much to his disgruntlement. Apparently, his habit of quoting Jedi idioms and maxims had become a source of amusement to Rogue Squadron and that amusement had manifested itself in a drinking game that was played exclusively in his presence.

Luke shook his head, clearing the amusing but unhelpful thoughts from his mind, and took a few steps around the projector to stand at Leia's side. He entered a state that was free from physical distractions, frowning thoughtfully at the emotions he sensed from the others. Sensing a more specific worry, he turned to Leia and asked in a quiet voice, "Han?"

His sister, clad in a simple white gown much like Mothma's, scowled at him, obviously aware that he'd read her emotions. Luckily, her annoyance didn't last long and she eventually cracked, giving him a wan smile. "He's with Lando in the _Falcon_ getting ready to launch. Han hates being cooped up in a cruiser during a fight and he doesn't trust Lando to fly it without 'breaking something else'," Leia whispered back, sparkling eyes filled with the fond amusement her composed face hid away.

Luke struggled not to smile and finally refocused his attention back to the others.

"That's everyone?" General Madine asked gruffly. His question was answered by General Airen Cracken, the Chief of Intelligence, who gave a short nod.

"Admiral Ackbar, if you'll begin?" Mothma prompted, gesturing to the display.

Admiral Ackbar, once a slave of Wilhuff Tarkin and now the Admiral of the Alliance Fleet, gestured to a nearby orderly who dutifully tapped a sequence into his datapad and stepped back. The holoprojector's current image disappeared and after a soft beep, sprang to life again. This holographic projection was far more localized than the previous one, focused only on the first two planets of the system, including all nine of Endor's moons. The Sanctuary Moon and Alliance fleet positions were highlighted in red, while the Imperial fleet's position orbiting the second planet of Eloggi had been highlighted blue. A few heartbeats later and a grid was applied to the projection, adding the substance of quantitative data to the otherwise purely visual presentation.

Another gesture from Ackbar and the holographic projection shifted again. Clustered in their orbit of the second planet of the system, the amorphous blues dots became a fleet of visible ships as the image zoomed in. The image showed the Imperial fleet to consist largely of Star Destroyers, many of which either Fleet or Alliance Intelligence had already identified by name. Smaller ships, such as the Imperial Navy's favored _Lancer_ frigates and _Strike_ cruisers, were also evident in the Imperial formation but in fewer numbers as was typical of most naval deployments.

"Approximately ten minutes ago, this flotilla emerged from hyperspace near Eloggi. Aside from maneuvering into Eloggi's orbit, the Imperial fleet has yet to commit to any course of action other than to raise their shields," Gial Ackbar drew in a deep, wet breath and pointed at the formation of ships. "As you can see here, the bulk of the flotilla's tonnage lay in its nine Star Destroyers," Ackbar stated and gestured to the ships. "Three of the Star Destroyers are _Victory_ s, two are _Victory-II_ s, one _Tector_ , and the remaining three are _Imperial-II_ s. There is also a moderate number of escort and skirmish vessels. Four _Carrack_ cruisers, two Nebulon-B frigates, six _Lancer_ frigates, three _Dreadnought_ heavy cruisers, eight _Strike_ cruisers." The Mon Calamari took another wet sounding breath. "Though the squadron possesses an impressive versatility, it doesn't possess even a third of the overall combat capability of the force we first encountered here. Should it come to a fight, I am confident that it is a fight we can win."

"Some of these ships..." Leia trailed off, examining the Star Destroyers through narrowed eyes.

"...were a part of the same Imperial fleet previously stationed within this system," General Cracken supplied. "Our last data burst from Targeter gave a detailed readout on this force but its ultimate destination was unknown at the time."

Leia stiffened at Cracken's words but merely shook her head with a half-smile when she felt Luke's concerned nudge. Sensing nothing amiss, Luke returned his focus to the Chief of Intelligence's report.

"These ships comprise one of the two formations the Imperial fleet split into when the Death Star was destroyed. The majority of the ships appeared to be bound elsewhere along the Rim but the smaller fleet was Core bound. Targeter's current mission on Coruscant has given us access to extremely accurate information on recent developments. A week after the Battle of Endor, this fleet entered the Coruscant system and only a few days later, the massacre within the Imperial Palace took place. Targeter reports that this very fleet was responsible for conducting the localized orbital bombardment which neutralized the palace's peripheral defenses, _implying_ but not confirming a level of complicity with whoever was responsible for assassinating Emperor Pestage," Cracken reported. "The fleet left the Coruscant system less than three days later to destinations unknown."

There was a discrete cough and the Contruum native trailed off, glancing at the young, human male holding a datapad who stood a discrete distance away from their group. "Fleet intelligence update, General."

"Ah, Lieutenant," Cracken reached out and took the datapad before nodding at the Intelligence agent. "Thank you, Blount, that'll be all."

"Sir." The man offered a short bow to the others before quickly withdrawing from the bridge.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll need a minute to review the data, please go ahead," Cracken stated, stepping back slightly to a more open part of the bridge.

"So, we have an Imperial fleet that stayed in Coruscant just long enough to stage a coup before immediately turning around and coming back to Endor?" Luke asked, "Why?"

"If the coup was political in nature as opposed to a petty grab for power, it's _possible_ the Imperial fleet's reasons for being here are likewise political," Leia offered but didn't sound as if she believed it.

"Their...hesitant behavior might support that statement, Princess, if their purpose for being here is an attempt to initiate genuine negotiations," Mon Mothma replied, sounding just as unsure.

"I don't buy that any more than either of you," Rieekan huffed out a laugh.

Mon Mothma grimaced and grudgingly offered the Alderaanian general a short nod. "I believe the answer as to why they'd choose Eloggi to orbit is a fairly simple one."

"The mining colony," Leia nodded.

"Well, there's that," Rieekan grimaced. "But there are far more important questions that we need answered."

Ackbar breathe and raised a webbed hand to point at the display. "Choosing to orbit Eloggi because of its barrenness and Imperial mining colony is reasonable but doing so gave us more than enough time to see them coming and react. That they're giving us this time to scramble fighters, position our ships, and establish escape routes is tactically unsound."

"It's the immediate return from Coruscant that has me most worried," Crix Madine admitted. "Why not call for reinforcements? The Kathol, Brak, and Anoat Sector Fleets are all relatively close by and could've easily provided enough ships to threaten or even overwhelm our position here. And sending in ships that haven't fully refitted or rearmed?" The head of Alliance Special Forces shook his head in confusion.

Clearing his throat, Cracken stepped back into their midst. "I apologize for the interruption but the information had bearing on the situation at hand. We've identified the most likely flagship as being the _Chimaera_ , an _Imperial II_ -class Star Destroyer that had been assigned to Death Squadron. Intercepted comtraffic during the Battle of Endor suggests that it was the _Chimaera_ that coordinated the withdrawal of Imperial ships from the system following the Death Star's destruction. From the moment they arrived over Coruscant, the ships conducted repair operations and eventually substituted two of their most badly damaged vessels for two _Victory_ Star Destroyers of the Coruscant Defense Fleet that we've been unable to identify them until now. Several of my more promising 'acolytes' were able to identify them as the _Imperator_ and _Emperor's Will_."

"Given the number of ships they returned to Endor with, they must've left most of their smaller capital ships behind to secure the system," Leia murmured.

"Quite right, Princess," Cracken nodded approvingly. "The datapad I was just handed contains another dispatch from Targeter, quite possibly the last dispatch we'll receive until things cool down on Coruscant."

"What do you mean, General?" Mon Mothma inquired, "has something new happened?"

"I won't go into details in light of our current situation; I'll submit the details to you which you can review later. Suffice it say that open conflict has begun over the skies of Coruscant and the outcome remains uncertain," Cracken answered grimly.

There was a moment of silence as they all digested the information.

"All of this is good information that we'll need to analyze later," Rieekan stressed, "for now we need to focus on our current actions. We've established a fighter screen, readied the bomber and assault squadrons, and formed our lines of battle. What next?"

"We must find out their intentions," Mothma stated definitely, "to attack or retreat without knowing them is foolish to the extreme."

"Given the size of their force and their damaged status," Rieekan murmured slowly, "I only see two plausible reasons."

"They're readying a trap," Madine said sourly.

"Or they're here to talk," Mon Mothma suggested quietly. At the blank looks she received, she shook her head ruefully. "I'm afraid that some of you might have lost some perspective on the Empire. Emperor Palpatine was," Mothma's face twisted into an expression as close to hate as Luke had ever seen, "a monster. The foulest creature I've ever had the misfortune of encountering. All of us have seen the results of his madness, his cruelty, the poison that he spread throughout the galaxy. There would never have been true peace under Palpatine's reign but in light of his death, a change of leadership means that the possibility of peace exists once more. It's possible, however unlikely, that the new Emperor thinks likewise and is willing to begin a dialog."

"Only long enough to get us off his backs and cement his rule," Leia muttered.

The members of Alliance High Command glanced at each other and said a very loud nothing, ratcheting up the level of tension on the bridge.

"They brought no ships capable of creating an interdiction field?" Luke inquired calmly.

Ackbar blinked. "No, not as far as we can tell."

Cracked nodded. "First thing we checked; none of their ships are capable of projecting gravity wells."

"What is it, Luke?" Leia asked, tilting her head as she considered her brother.

"They gave us more than enough time and space to leave," he replied calmly, "and they've made no hostile movements or even bring Interdictors into play."

"You think they want to talk?" Cracken asked with a raised brow.

"For one reason or another, yes," Luke tilted his head. "We _did_ just kill off the majority of Imperial Fleet Command, I imagine that has to make an impression, new Emperor or not."

Smiling gently at him, Mon Mothma asked, "do you have any other insight into the situation, Jedi Skywalker?"

And there it was, the reason that he specifically had been asked to attend their meeting; being the last of the Jedi held many burdens and responsibilities and this one he'd found to weigh the heaviest upon him. He'd learned, first in his command of Rogue Squadron and then later during his command of the task force sent to Bakura that leading by one's feelings, even feelings guided by the Force's will, was not a foolproof strategy. Being asked for advice by the most important members of the Alliance, advice that he could contribute based on his _feelings_ was an intimidating prospect but one that he would undoubtedly face many times in the future. Luke fought the urge to shuffle under the weight of the stares he received and focused on Mon's question.

Mon Mothma had long been a source of support for him, encouraging him to learn about the Jedi, to train to become one, and had defended him against other members of High Command when Luke's efforts led him down unexpected, and not necessarily approved, paths. Luke took a deep breath, unwilling to pay her back for her support by giving into his anxiety. Closing his eyes, he immersed himself into the Force and extended his senses.

It was the reverberations in the Force that he felt first and like the ripples in a pond created by dropping a pebble into it, they crashed against his consciousness. The source of those ripples was, unsurprisingly, the disturbance in the Force he'd felt, except it wasn't so much of a disturbance now as it was a star getting ready to go nova right in their faces. It was almost overpowering, so much so that he had to make a deliberate effort just to search deeper and find...

Luke opened his eyes and took another deep breath. "I sense no immediate danger but I believe their purpose for being here holds a deeper significance, one that we haven't yet grasped." Making deliberate eye contact with the others, he kept his voice soft as he warned, "we must take great care to avoid any precipitous action."

"No immediate danger?" Mothma mused, obviously noting the incongruity of the words in conjunction with a nearby Imperial fleet. "I am loath to take any offensive action given the current circumstances but I will leave Fleet matters in the capable hands of Admiral Ackbar. However, I would advise that we use this time of non-engagement to separate ourselves onto other ships; we cannot risk our entire command structure being trapped on board a single vessel."

General Madine nodded. "I'll take a shuttle to the _Independence_ at once."

The Chief of Alliance Intelligence ran a hand through his short, graying hair. "We haven't been able to setup any of the equipment on the surface to monitor orbital events or keep in constant communication yet, so I'd advise remaining in the fleet. I need to stay here with my other intelligence analy—" General Cracken began but was interrupted by a loud clatter.

The source of the noise was a young, Sullustan officer who'd bolted upright from his station so quickly that several nearby datapads had clattered to the floor. Tearing off his earpiece, he nearly trampled a passing crewmember in his haste to reach the assembled members of High Command. Looking absolutely panic-stricken, he flicked a nervous glance toward Luke before he spoke with a quiet, dire urgency. "Admiral! We've just received a narrow-beam transmission from the enemy flagship," the lieutenant paused, twitching as he glanced at Luke again before continuing, "the commanding officer of their fleet recorded a message addressed to High Command and—you better hear it for yourselves."

"Very well," Leia reassured the communications officer with patient tones, waving a hand at the holoprojector, "go ahead."

"Not here!" the Sullustan lieutenant yelped, furtively glancing at their surroundings and making a visible effort to calm himself down. The man took a much longer look at Luke, finally tearing himself away from his inspection and leaned toward to the assembled group of Alliance High Command, face composed and voice oddly subdued. "It's probably something you should listen to in private."

Leia glanced at Luke with raised eyebrows, obviously aware of the man's odd behavior.

Luke shrugged, feeling distinctly unsettled by the Sullustan's reaction to him. Was it...fear? As far as he knew, he'd never met the man, so why would the lieutenant fear _him_?

Ackbar tilted his head. "Very well, Lieutenant Quiv, send the transmission to my stateroom and continue to monitor all communication channels. Let me know immediately if we receive or intercept any other transmissions."

The Sullustan complied instantly offering the Admiral a smart salute before heading back to his station, though not before giving Luke another tense look.

"What was that all about?" Madine asked, looking between Luke and the lieutenant with a perplexed frown.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Luke murmured, also frowning at the man's retreating back.

Mon Mothma cleared her throat. "Admiral, why don't you show us to your stateroom."

#

Luke sat at the white conference table with the others, luxuriating in the quiet stillness of Ackbar's stateroom that was so distinctly at odds with the urgency and tension found on the bridge. Despite the increased level of humidity that the Mon Calamari preferred, it was a much more comfortable environment. In the center of the table was a small projection of a green Imperial Crest.

"Go ahead, Admiral," Mon Mothma nodded when Ackbar glanced at her.

Ackbar pressed a small button at his seat before leaning back.

There was a moment of silence before a robotic voice emerged from the speaker.

 **"This message is intended for any and all members of Alliance High Command within the Endor system. It is our assumption that Admiral Gial Ackbar is located on this ship and we request that he, in his capacity as a member of Alliance High Command,** **disseminate this message to the other designated recipients** **. If our assumption is incorrect and no other representative of High Command or your Advisory Council is present, please see to it that this transmission is routed to Luke Skywalker. Please stand by for message playback."**

Ackbar tapped a button that paused the transmission and every face in the room immediately turned to him. Luke fought the childish desire to slouch in his chair or look over his shoulder to make certain there wasn't another Luke Skywalker standing there. Instead, Luke kept his composure, forcing himself to appear calm and to be the very picture of Jedi serenity, despite his pounding heart and racing thoughts.

When Madine opened his mouth to say something, Luke held up a single finger. "I don't know, General. Perhaps being a Jedi has something to do with it but I honestly don't know," Luke preempted spreading his open hands in a helpless gesture

"The Jedi were famous for their prowess as warriors during the Clone Wars," Mon stated calmly, "but their service to the Republic wasn't accomplished solely by their skill with a lightsaber but by their skill with words, diplomacy, and negotiation."

"As far as we know, the Empire's mandate that Jedi are to be shot hasn't changed," Leia pointed out, "I doubt that even an Imperial officer old enough to remember the Jedi _before_ the Clone Wars would look past that prejudice."

"Continue the message," Cracken stated gruffly, "and I imagine we'll find out why."

When Admiral Ackbar tapped the key at his console again, several seconds passed before the green Imperial Crest disappeared. Taking its place was a miniaturized projection of an Imperial officer who spoke with an accent common to most Core Worlders.

 **"Greetings. I am Admiral Firmus Piett of the Imperial Navy and commanding officer of Task Force Verè. It is my hope that after reviewing this message, you'll be willing to engage in a dialog with a small delegation from our fleet. I understand that my fleet's presence has created a tension that could easily ignite a battle; it is for that reason that I've directed my fleet to maintain its current station-keeping around Eloggi."**

"Pause!" Crix Madine snapped. "That man," the Corellian pointed at the Imperial officer's projected image, "should be dead."

Like most officers of the Imperial Navy, Firmus Piett was male and human. He looked to be in his mid-forties, had pale skin, and had a hawkish nose set upon a no-nonsense face while dressed in a clean, perfectly tailored, olive-green uniform of the Imperial Navy. He looked determined and collected but a closer look into the man's eyes revealed a deep exhaustion and wariness.

 _Piett_.

Luke's body had stilled when the man had first named himself and he had to work to keep his breathing steady. Clearing his throat, Luke asked, "who is he?"

"Admiral Piett has served as Death Squadron's admiral since the Battle of Hoth, subordinate only to Darth Vader. The last intelligence report we received on Death Squadron listed Piett as captain of the _Accuser_ but he was known to lead large fleet actions from the _Executor_. With the _Executor_ destroyed and the _Accuser_ captured, Piett should've either died or been captured with the rest of the _Accuser_ 's evacuees," Cracken answered.

"Whatever the reason for his presence on the _Chimaera_ might be, the mere fact that he _is_ there goes a long way in explaining how the Imperial fleet was led into such a rapid and efficient retreating action," Ackbar added.

"You said his command was normally the _Accuser_?" Rieekan asked, a growing grin playing upon his face. "Perhaps we should rotate the _Emancipator_ 's position within the formation, perhaps the side closest to Eloggi?"

There was a chorus of chuckles at Rieekan's words and even Mothma wore a small smile on her normally composed face. Luke saw his sister's lips quirk into a half-smile and despite his growing worry over Piett, he couldn't help himself from grinning as well.

The capture of the _Accuser_ was quickly becoming as legendary as the destruction of the Death Star itself; it wasn't often that an _Imperial_ Star Destroyer was captured without firing so much as a single shot during the middle of a space battle, after all. After the shield generator's destruction on the Sanctuary Moon, Han led the rest of the strike team back to their stolen shuttle. Using stormtrooper armor and an Imperial Army general's uniform, Han had marched right onto the _Accuser_ walking unhindered directly to the bridge. After securing the bridge crew, they'd activated a hull breach alarm and ordered the crew to abandon ship. The _Accuser_ now served the Alliance as the _Emancipator_ and to _everyone's_ annoyance, Han and the Katarn Commandos were still acting insufferably smug about it.

Luke lost his smile as he considered Cracken's earlier words about _Piett._ Luke may not have been world-wise and suave like Han or Lando, but he wasn't the same naive farmboy who'd blasted off of Tatooine either. His father had told him to trust 'Piett' and now a man named Firmus Piett had dropped out of hyperspace with an Imperial fleet at his command. The same Piett who had served his father as the admiral of Death Squadron. No, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that this man's name was a coincidence, but why would Father, _after_ turning back to the Light side of the Force, tell him to trust this Imperial officer?

 _Well, it's not as if all Imperial officers are evil; a large part of the Rebellion's forces are made up of former Imperial officers and personnel. Perhaps Father believes Piett intends to defect or extend a genuine cease-fire._ _And maybe banthas can fly, after all,_ Luke thought sourly.

"Does anyone know if there's a significance to the task force's name?" Mon asked the others.

After everyone replied in the negative, Rieekan waved a hand. "Let's continue, gentlebeings, and hold off any discussion until we've reviewed the whole message," Rieekan recommended quietly.

 **"As you are undoubtedly aware, Emperor Palpatine is dead. The Emperor, however, neglected to prepare any contingency plans in the event of his death but it was generally understood that in such an event, it was Lord Vader who would take the throne. The night before the Battle of Endor, Lord Vader contacted me and ordered me to the _Chimaera,_ where I received a series of orders that were to be executed in the event of either his or the Emperor's death. ****I don't know if Lord Vader's…foresight is responsible for his decision to transfer me to the _Chimaera_ but doing so not only saved my life from the _Executor_ 's destruction but it allowed me to fulfill his orders after he confirmed the Emperor's death and warned me of his own impending demise."**

"I'm not sure I've ever heard one of Darth Vader's subordinates, let alone an admiral, be so liberal with information and internal communication," Leia murmured. "It's fascinating to be sure, but why bother to tell us?"

Madine frowned and nodded his agreement to the rhetorical question.

Luke stared at the image of Piett's face, feeling something clench inside him. _When had Father ever spoken with Piett? I practically carried him the whole way to the hanger!_ Anakin Skywalker's advice to trust Piett rang in his ears again and Luke out a breath and wondered exactly what Vader had told Piett.

 **"Not long after reporting Emperor Palpatine's death, Lord Vader contacted the _Chimaera_ and let it be known that he would be assuming the throne. Though Lord Vader was aware that he was dying, he issued a series of last-minute changes to his previous orders before declaring a hereditary line of succession for the Imperial Throne, a declaration witnessed by the entire bridge crew of the _Chimaera_."**

 _Oh, fierfek! Shavit, shavit, shavit!_

Luke froze, mouth dry, and felt his heart pound harder and faster than he'd ever felt it before. A slim, feminine hand gripped his wrist with bruising strength, squeezing his flesh so hard Luke almost yanked his arm away. Their father, who'd declared himself Emperor, had named an heir before dying. Luke prayed to every god that he'd ever heard of that Anakin Skywalker wouldn't be so cruel as to wish such a fate upon his son.

 _Join me, and together, we can rule the galaxy as father and son!_

Remembering his father's offer on Cloud City, the prospect of divine intervention seemed less than likely.

 **"After executing Lord Vader's orders on Imperial Center, the final task within my mandate was to return to the Endor system with the express purpose of—"** the Imperial officer coughed lightly, looking uncomfortable and nervous despite his admirable effort to remain calm. **"We are here to see to the protection of the new Emperor and to escort him to Imperial Center, preferably aboard the _Chimaera_ or any Imperial vessel but it would naturally be His Majesty's prerogative to choose otherwise."**

The man winced and Luke could tell the Admiral was imagining a Rebel ship, or Rebel fleet, dropping out of hyperspace in the Coruscant system. Luke sympathized, he could imagine no scenario where that would possibly end well. But his sympathy could only go so far as the gravity of the situation weighed upon him more heavily with every word Piett spoke.

Luke felt his shoulders hunch, aware of the bewildered glances the other members of the room were giving each other. He knew what was coming, he knew what his father had done, and he knew now that the disturbance he'd been sensing hadn't come from some new Emperor or Grand Admiral; it had come from _him_ and the decisions and actions that had led Firmus Piett to this place and time. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expressions on the others' faces when they heard the words he knew were coming.

 **"Lord Vader's heir is currently serving as an officer of the Alliance and has never, to my knowledge, colluded with the Empire in any way and we therefore possess no means of contacting him directly.** **It is for that reason that I wished for this message to be heard by Alliance High Command, so that you might provide the opportunity to engage in conversation so that we might be assured that His Majesty is, and remains, in good health. A diplomatic summit where we might establish some sort of concordance on his journey to Coruscant would also be necessary."** On the projected hologram, the man shifted again, looking even more unsure of himself. **"There is no true protocol for this sort of situation and I'm well aware of the…awkward and possibly volatile reactions that the revelation of His Majesty's identity might incite, but I see no better, or safer alternative in establishing contact with His Majesty. Therefore, I make a formal request to Alliance High Command that I be permitted to make contact with,"** the man took a deep breath, **"Lord Vader's heir and son—"**

The message halted at the sudden uproar within the stateroom, paused by Rieekan at the sudden shouts. Luke had been given a short reprieve to prepare himself for the explicit unveiling of his relationship to Darth Vader, his father. The _father_ , Darth Vader or Anakin Skywalker, depending on one's point of view, who had named himself Emperor, declared Luke as his son and heir, and then became one with the Force a short time later. Luke felt a vicious desire to bring his father back to life just so that he could kill the kriffing jerk himself.

Leia's hand remained clamped around his wrist and Luke could feel her distress and her fear, a fear for him and what was about to happen. Luke placed his hand on top of hers, giving her a soft squeeze.

"How could he have a child!? How would it have even been _possible_?" Madine shouted, looking more incredulous than anything else. "And what woman would voluntarily bear his child?" Madine paused and his lips twisted in a bitter parody of a smile, "then again, knowing Vader, the voluntary aspect is highly questionable."

Luke clenched his fists; the worst part of Madine's conjecture was that he couldn't disprove it. He knew nothing of his mother, only that which Leia's distant memory had provided. He'd never even considered the ugly possibility of his father forcing himself upon a woman but if his father had been free of his life support suit while in the throes of the dark side… Well, it would've been far from the worst act he'd committed as Darth Vader.

 _No._

He didn't believe it; his father had been too obsessed with finding him, had made many strategic and tactical blunders throughout the war in his effort to capture him, hadn't killed him when Luke refused his offer and had even been willing to betray his master to save him. His father, as Vader, has possessed a twisted form of caring for him, one that was made pure only after his transition to the light side of the Force. Vader wouldn't have acted the way he did if his children were some careless byproduct of the vile act Madine implied. Ignoring the raging emotions from the room, Luke felt that belief ring true in the Force grateful for that if for little else at the moment.

"I'm more concerned about the fact that Vader's spawn has been serving in the Alliance, playing us for fools!" Cracken snarled.

"To my knowledge, we've never been given _any_ reason to believe that Vader had a child and if he did, there would have been precious little time for him to have had any hand in actually…raising the child," Rieekan pointed out, glancing to Cracken for confirmation.

"Not one damn word. It's possible that the child was raised in the palace. We're aware that there are children…watched over by the Emperor. Aside from rumors and rare _possible_ sightings, we can only guess as to his purpose for them," Cracken answered in a much more disgusted voice.

Luke felt nauseous at the idea of the bitter, twisted, _thing_ that had been the Emperor spending time around children, but he felt just as nauseous at what his friends, his comrades for years now, were saying and suggesting about him. He didn't blame them, not really, not after Bespin when the truth of his parentage had altered his own self-identity to a much darker reality. Nothing they'd said were things he hadn't thought himself.

Then he felt something…subtle in the Force and when he looked up, he noticed that on the other side of Ackbar's stateroom, Mon Mothma sat quietly, looking directly at _him._ Luke had no idea how, but Mon Mothma, Chief of State of the Alliance of Free Planets and former Senator of Chandrila, _knew_ that he was Darth Vader's son. She gave him a small nod, eyes conveying sympathy, understanding, and _acceptance._ That acceptance was a balm to his soul and gave him the strength to sit just a little straighter and ready himself for—

The message resumed and on the projected hologram, Admiral Piett visibly straightened before saying in a clear, collected voice, **"Luke Skywalker."**

#

 _Though Luke couldn't see or hear them, three robed beings chuckled at the newest expression on Crix Madine and Airen Cracken's face._

 _"You know, Anakin, your decision to make your son Emperor will put him in a great deal of danger, even from those he calls friends,"_ _Obi-Wan warned._

 _Anakin nodded seriously. "I'm aware, Obi-Wan, and I've done what I can to alleviate the danger I've placed him in. I've given him the best bodyguards in the galaxy and that should be enough to discourage most would-be assassins. Obi-Wan, I truly believe that Luke can help heal the galaxy and bring peace; I'm not saying it will be simple or quick or bloodless, mind you, but it's a better solution than letting Pestage or Isard kriff the galaxy up even more."_

 _Obi-Wan made a face. "A Skywalker ruling a Galactic Empire? I'm not sure if the word 'peace' means what you think it means."_

 _"Heh," Yoda chuckled. "Always in motion is the future—"_

 _Anakin groaned._

 _Yoda raised his gimer stick in a menacing gesture, cutting Anakin's groan off. "A good man and Jedi, your son is. Centuries it has been since a Jedi last ruled, but rule the Jedi once did, during the last Sith War. A kind ruler, your son will be. An effective one, your daughter will make him be."_

 _Yoda stood up and slowly walked to the center of the room, examining Mon Mothma._

 _"He's part of the Force, Obi-Wan, why does he still need the stick to move around? And how does he even have it!?" Anakin complained, leaning in to murmur in Obi-Wan's ear._

 _Obi-Wan folded his arms into his robes and looked at his former apprentice with a solemn expression. "All things are possible through the Force."_

 _"Please, dump me back on Mustafar and let me burn this time, it would be so much better than listening to the two of you toss out Jedi sayings for the rest of eternity," Anakin replied sourly. "No wonder that drinking game invented by Luke's friend is so popular, you infected my son with you Jedi proverb regurgitation disorder!"_

 _Obi-Wan chuckled._

 _Yoda hummed. "A kind and intelligent woman, Mon Mothma has always been. Aware of Luke and Leia's identity, she is."_

 _Sobering, Anakin came to stand by Yoda, examining the Chandrilan redhead that he'd first met during the Clone Wars. "She was one of Padmè and Bail Organa's closest friends and allies in the Senate," Anakin said softly. "Bail might've told her when they started the Rebellion, or maybe she just figured it out."_

 _"And now a friend and ally to Padmè's offspring, the Senator will be," Yoda assured him._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Have no fear, next chapter will be filling in most/all of the blanks on the Imperial/Piett side of things. I'll be posting a full roster of Rogue Squadron in a couple chapters, so if I get a couple designations wrong, let me know. I'm almost sure I did because I had to cobble together information from a variety of books to fit a reformed Rogue Squadron in.

I'm unsure if Palpatine ever acknowledged Vader as his successor in Legends canon. I _believe_ Palpatine did, either through a reference in one of the books or in one of the video games (Force Unleashed?), but I've been unable to confirm that. However, even if Palpatine hadn't done so, I believe it to have been largely understood by the galaxy at large that it was Vader who'd take over in the event of Palpatine's death. Not just because he was the Supreme Commander of the military, or because he was nobility (he _was_ designated as a Lord), but because he was the only other Sith Lord in existence. The last reason was probably understood only by the upper echelon of the Court and military, that his being a Sith Lord was necessary for the survival of the Empire because whoever assumed the throne had to be able to inspire fear/obedience in the over-ambitious bureaucrats, nobles, Grand Admirals/Moffs in order to keep them in line. The more compelling argument about Vader being the best successor because of his status as a Sith was that he'd be the only person capable of protecting the Empire from the chaos that'd be unleashed by Palpatine's half trained Force-sensitive agents who would seek power in their master's absence.

The task force's name, Veré, was the name Padmè took during their secret wedding. Seemed appropriate with Anakin's turn to the light and end of life sentimentality.

To give you an idea of what 15 light-minutes (distance between Imp. and Rebel fleet) translates into, the distance between Earth and Mars (between their longest and shortest distances) is about that much.

Rebellion's Political Timeline: The Rebellion ( _Alliance to Restore the Republic_ ) became the _Alliance of Free Planets_ several days after the Battle of Endor. The Alliance of Free Planets became the _New Republic_ about a month later.

I'm not sure if it's ever fully explained why they stayed at Endor and made it their (very temporary) capital, but my guess would be that they were trying to avoid large population centers from being targeted by Imperial counterattacks. Of course, there's also the fact that there were still very few planets willing to openly support them in the first place. Even with the Death Star and most of the Empire's best officers dead, there was enough power in the Grand Admirals that they could've probably taken down the Alliance if they'd just banded together instead of fighting amongst themselves.

So I've wasted about two hours of my life looking up hyperspace & sublight speeds/equations/distances and trying to mesh them into my story. One thing I didn't realize was just how fast the Star Wars ships were, not just in FTL, but in sublight as well. There are naturally discrepancies in travel times from the movies, books, and other media, but from what I've determined, a one-way trip from Endor to Coruscant is approximately 6 1/2 times in hyperspace. I'm sure someone could correct me on my guestimates but for the sake of my sanity, let it go. For reference, there is a neat website (swcombine) that has a tool that will provide consistent (if not totally accurate) travel times within the Star Wars universe.


	3. Chapter Two

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you, everyone, for your support! I'd stated earlier my intention to publish chapters alternating between WotE and my other story in progress but I decided to release this chapter early. This isn't a continuation of Chapter One but instead takes place concurrently from Admiral Piett/Empire's point of view.

Speaking of which, Piett's speech from the previous chapter was very difficult for me to write, I mean, what _would_ an Imperial officer say bearing news like that? Why Piett would follow through Vader's orders in their place is more than questionable but how does one approach the Rebellion and tell them that the new _Emperor_ is one of their heroes? Awkward, yes and I am very aware that I am vastly exaggerating the personal loyalty of Piett (and pretty much everyone else) toward Vader. Enjoy.

* * *

 **###**

 _"History is on the move, Captain. Those who cannot keep up will be left behind, to watch from a distance. And those who stand in our way will not watch at all."  
_ _― Grand Admiral Thrawn_

 **#**

 **Two days after BoE** **  
Aboard the _Chimaera  
_ En route to Imperial Center**

Firmus Piett removed the green cap from his head and met the eyes of the other man over the rim of his glass before lifting it into the air in salute. "To the Empire."

"To the Empire," Captain Gilad Pellaeon echoed, sounding equally bitter as he raised his own glass for the toast.

As one, they each drained their tumbler of the colorless liquor. Surprised by the strength of the liquor, Piett immediately let loose a series of loud, hacking coughs as the substance burned down his throat. "What in all of the Sith hells is _that_?" he croaked.

Captain Pellaeon chuckled, his graying mustache twitching at the exhalation of air. "A bit of an acquired taste and not one that I choose to regularly indulge in, however, circumstances as they are, I thought a few fingers of tihaar might be just the thing we needed in order to determine if this wasn't just some twisted nightmare."

Piett's lips twisted as he offered the captain a sardonic smile. "I'm afraid not, Captain, this 'nightmare', as you so aptly described it, has become our reality." Piett considered his empty tumbler for a moment before asking curiously, "I've not heard of 'tihaar' before, where did you acquire it?"

Pellaeon smiled slightly, but it was a sad and tired smile, Piett noted. "While I'm not all that much older than you, Admiral," the captain began tiredly, "I _am_ old enough to have fought in the Clone Wars where I captained one of the old _Acclamator_ s, the _Leveler_. There was a clone commando unit attached to my ship during the Battle of Gaftikar and while I didn't spend much time around them, I _did_ learn about their predilection for Mandalorian culture and language."

Seeing Piett's raised eyebrow, the captain chuckled. "The commandos and ARC troopers were different from the other clones, you know, quite different. They developed distinct personalities and eccentricities, and an unusual degree of independent thought; it's one of the reasons why they were so damned effective. Anyway, their tendency to adhere to Mandalorian culture was apparently an influence of their trainers during their formative years on Kamino, many of whom were themselves Mandalorian. Those trainers taught them as much about their culture as they did about fighting, including, as it turned out, the practice of drinking tihaar." Pellaeon snorted, shaking his head in bemusement before he exhaled a wistful sigh. "Not long after our victory at Gaftikar, I ran into those commandos in the _Leveler_ 's hanger celebrating with a bottle of tihaar. Imagine my surprise when they invited me to join them and, for a few minutes, I did just that. Now, I keep it around for the occasions where I feel...nostalgic."

Piett leaned back, feeling some of the tension leave his body as he distracted himself with Pellaeon's story. "Nostalgic?"

The older man nodded, white beard twitching at the bitter smile that reappeared. "Yes, for more than a few reasons. Even if you didn't fight in the Clone Wars, Admiral, I'm sure you can remember the name 'Skywalker' being bandied about quite a bit. He was known for being brash, impulsive, and utterly lacking discipline, but for all of that, he was one of the most effective leaders in the Grand Army. In light of recent circumstances, I suppose I am feeling rather nostalgic."

Piett blinked. " _Shavit_ , that...hadn't really sunk in for me yet. That..." The admiral trailed off, shaking his head. "We were aware that Luke Skywalker was the offspring of the Jedi, Anakin Skywalker. Anyone who remembers the Clone Wars can probably remember the name 'Skywalker'. Hell, a number of my peers at Quelii sector's Naval Academy made the decision to enlist partly _because_ of all of Anakin Skywalker's heroics that were broadcast across the HoloNet. But how did _he_ become someone like..." Firmus shook his head again. "With everything that's happened, Captain, it's far easier for me to accept Luke Skywalker being Vader's son than it is for Vader to actually be _the_ Anakin Skywalker I remember hearing about from my youth."

The Axxilan admiral ran a finger along the edge of his glass, silent for a moment. "To the Empire, Luke Skywalker is a wanted war criminal not to mention a _Jedi._ To the Rebellion, he's the hero who killed the first Death Star, one of the finest pilots in the galaxy, and a young man who holds a prominent position within the Rebellion for his being a Jedi. A _Jedi_ , Captain, who called _Darth Vader_ 'Father'." The admiral blew out a breath and held the cool, empty tumbler to his forehead to ward off the building headache.

"It sounds like a damn holovid, the whole mess of it does," Pellaeon muttered.

Piett huffed out a laugh. "At least the mystery behind Lord Vader's atypical behavior for the last four years has been solved."

Pellaeon tilted his head in question.

"I'm sure you can remember Lord Vader being tasked with discovering the identity of the pilot responsible for the first Death Star's destruction," Piett prompted with a lazy wave of his hand, "and I'm sure you can remember even more clearly how abruptly the...dynamics of the search changed upon the revelation of the pilot's identity."

Captain Pellaeon smiled bitterly. "Oh yes, I, and every other officer of the Imperial Navy remember _'Vader's obsession'_ quite well," the bearded man scowled, setting his glass on the table with an abrupt, heavy thud.

 _Yes, the captain remembers those days_ very _well,_ Piett thought sourly and thought of Kendal Ozzel, Lorth Needa, and so many others who were murdered by Vader during his hunt for Skywalker.

After a moment, Pellaeon released his death grip on the glass and released a deep breath. "I suppose you're right, though. Knowing now why he was so obsessed with capturing Luke Skywalker, I can sympathize, but there are still good men whom he murdered for no reason other than his foul moods."

They lapsed into silence while Gilad poured himself another finger and, at Piett's nod, refilled his superior officer's tumbler as well.

"If I might speak freely, Admiral, what exactly are we going to do? Lord Vader's orders..." the captain trailed off, not knowing what to say without it sounding like treason.

Piett was silent for a long time, long enough that Pellaeon sat up straighter, prepared to withdraw from the room and leave the admiral to his own thoughts. However, Piett finally met his eyes with a startling intensity. In a quiet and contemplative voice, Piett reminisced about the most frightening moment of his life before Endor.

"I should be dead, you know," Piett admitted, "so many other officers died at Vader's hand for minor mistakes, or for Vader's temper, during the chase for Luke Skywalker, just as you said. My position as admiral is a direct result of my 'battlefield promotion' when Lord Vader killed Admiral Ozzel. Scarcely any time had passed before I found myself informing Lord Vader that the hyperdrive aboard the _Millennium Falcon_ , the ship carrying his son, had been disabled." Piett took a sip of his drink, shuddering at either the burn of the alcohol or at the memory. "A scant few seconds later, Captain, and I watched that thrice-damned, Corellian rusty bucket of bolts jump into hyperspace."

Still maintaining eye contact, Piett raised a finger and pointed at Pellaeon. "I have never been so frightened in my life, Captain, nor have I ever been so certain that I was about to die."

"Well, obviously he didn't kill you, so what _did_ happen?" Pellaeon asked, finding a sort of morbid fascination in Piett's tale.

"Lord Vader was...silent. I don't think I've ever heard him be so silent. He stared out of the viewport for a moment and didn't so much as glance at me before leaving the _Executor_ 's bridge. I must think that something extraordinary happened on Bespin for him to have been so distracted that he left me alive."

The admiral cleared his throat. "I respected Lord Vader, Captain, far more than any of the Grand Moffs or Grand Admirals I've _ever_ had the dubious pleasure of meeting. Vader wasn't a politician, he wasn't a hypocrite, he was brutally honest, and he believed in the Empire and that is far more than could be said for practically the entirety of the Imperial Court. I've spoken with several members of the Imperial Ruling Council and, to a one, found them utterly repulsive. If an immediate replacement isn't found and presented to the Empire then all of those pathetic, greedy, and venal _creatures_ are the ones we'll be answering to. They will wreak havoc upon the Empire as they fight for control, and you _know_ they will without Emperor Palpatine to keep them fat and happy."

Piett waited for Pellaeon's reluctant nod before continuing. "Lord Vader's plans rely on more than just you and I carrying out his orders; we'll just have to trust that the recipients of his missives are willing to put their trust in Lord Vader one last time."

Captain Pellaeon blew out a gust of air, making his mustache appear as if it were vibrating. "I don't disagree with anything you've said, Admiral, but—"

"—but you worry about the ramifications of naming the heir to the Imperial throne as the man who killed the first Death Star, the man the Empire has spent years decrying as a murderer, terrorist, and so many other unflattering epithets," Piett interrupted with a grimace. "Be assured, Captain, that I'm well aware of the difficulties that lay ahead of us, but worrying about the reputation of Skywalker within the Empire will have to wait until we overcome more immediate problems."

Gilad took another swallow of his drink before he said in a tired voice, "contenders to the throne."

"Just so," Piett acknowledged, "but there's also the reactions of the Rebellion and Skywalker himself to consider."

The older man looked at him in disbelief, "You believe Skywalker was ignorant of his place in the line of succession?"

Piett grimaced. "There isn't any way for us to know until we actually speak to Skywalker but… Lord Vader's final mandate for the task force, the way those orders were issued on the eve of battle, that he transmitted his final words with Skywalker live through comm-relay as confirmation of their relationship—none of that speaks of long-term planning. I believe that if Luke Skywalker _had_ known of his status as heir apparent, then he would've returned with us to Imperial Center or at least have made contact with us. So yes, Captain, I'm afraid there's a very real chance that this will be as much of a surprise to him as it was to us."

"Hell, I almost pity the boy," Gilad Pellaeon murmured as he stared off into the distance. "I see no way that this can end well, Admiral," he admitted after a contemplative silence, "not for him and not for the Empire. Then there's the Rebellion, as you said, how will they factor into this mess?"

Piett's face twisted as if he'd tasted something sour. "One thing at a time, Captain. We have five days until we reach Imperial Center, five days to figure out how to convince this task force to protect, and not assassinate, our new Emperor upon our next encounter. Not only that, but we must prepare to deal with whoever has claimed the throne in Palpatine and Vader's absence. And then there's all the other power-hungry bureaucrats, jealous MoffMoffs, and enraged admirals to consider."

"I'm glad that you're able to think so positively on the matter, Admiral," Pellaeon muttered.

Piett leaned back into the comfortable chair and offered the man a wry, tired smile. "Quite right."

* * *

 **Three days after** **BoE** **  
Aboard the _Chimaera  
_ En route to Imperial Center**

Admiral Piett sat at the head of the massive, black, marble table in one of the _Chimaera_ 's larger conference rooms with Captain Pellaeon, watching as most of the ship's senior officers. Accompanying them were several junior officers who either manned the bridge or other vital ship systems. Firmus resisted the urge to adjust his cap or straighten his uniform and instead folded his hands on the table to keep them occupied. Instead of joining his admiral at the table, Gilad Pellaeon remained standing off to his side, carefully watching the large procession of officers, taking in the expressions and body postures of the officers as they saluted and took their seats.

The older captain grimaced. There was a visual difference between the officers who had and hadn't been on the _Chimaera_ 's bridge during those final moments at Endor. To say that no officer who'd been present at the Battle of Endor was satisfied with the outcome would've been a _vast_ understatement; more than a few midshipmen and officers felt an overwhelming sense of failure for the losses inflicted upon their fleet by the Rebellion, a ragtag band of terrorists that should've been wiped out in the trap set by the Emperor.

But they hadn't been wiped out, and even with the Death Star acting as an anvil and Death Squadron as the hammer, that band of criminals and terrorists had somehow found victory. A victory that had cost the Empire at least a dozen Star Destroyers, the _Executor_ , a countless number of support vessels, and had then destroyed the Death Star, upon which the Emperor and Lord Vader had been killed. _No one_ in the retreating task force felt anything resembling 'good' about the battle, but those bridge officers who'd heard Lord Vader's exchange with Luke Skywalker were even more subdued and grim than the others. Even days later, they still looked shell-shocked and Gilad didn't doubt for one moment that they were terrified that Lord Vader's exchange would be revealed.

Pellaeon didn't blame them one bit.

"Gentlemen," Admiral Piett began and then abruptly paused before continuing in a harsher voice. "I intend to hold you to your honor as an officer of the Imperial Navy that what I say in this room will not leave it. If you break that promise, I will have you jettisoned out of an airlock, is that understood?"

Shifting uncomfortably, the officers nodded or uttered a quiet, 'Yes, sir'.

"Excellent," Firmus acknowledged and took a deep breath. "As you know, the _Chimaera_ was only one ship among a group of vessels that separated from the main force to retreat to Imperial Center as opposed to Annaj. Before the Battle of Endor, both Captain Pellaeon and I received a set of orders directly from Lord Vader that were to be fulfilled in the event of his and the Emperor's death. The mandate that Task Force Verè has been given is designed to secure the throne for the new Emperor."

There was a stir in the officers, some straightening in their seats looking as if they'd found salvation, whispering quietly to one another looking more hopeful than they'd been since their retreat. A much smaller group were white-faced, silent, and looking as if their worlds were about to end. _The bridge crew, no doubt, poor bastards,_ thought Pellaeon.

Piett cleared his throat and waited until silence dominated the room once more. "I am not aware of the circumstances surrounding either Lord Vader or Emperor Palpatine's death, however, Lord Vader contacted the _Chimaera_ after the Emperor's death, at which point he claimed the throne and acknowledged his son to be his successor. Lord Vader passed away a short time later, leaving Captain Pellaeon and myself to assemble the task force and journey back to Imperial Center without the bulk of the fleet. Upon our arrival on Imperial Center, we will begin the process of securing the planet for the heir to the Empire."

"Son?!"

"Vader? A father!?"

The exclamations were almost a roar as the shouted questions were echoed by dozens of attending officers almost in unison. Piett gave them a moment to recover from their shocked, knee-jerk reaction but after showing no signs of stopping half a minute later., slapped the surface of the table with a sharp 'crack'.

"Be quiet," Piett demanded harshly, eyes hard, "you are officers in the Imperial Navy, not gossip mongers. You _will_ stay quiet, you will _not_ offer idle speculation, and you _will_ wait to ask questions if or when I grant you permission to do so, is that understood?"

The room quieted as the assembled officers visibly stiffened in their chairs at the reprimand.

He waited for the officers' acknowledgments of 'Yes, Admiral' and 'Yes, sir' to finish before he went on.

"The new Emperor isn't on Imperial Center and our mission is to make it safe for the Emperor to journey there and claim the throne," Piett informed them. Fighting the frustration Lord Vader's orders incited, Piett resisted the urge to ball his hands into fists and kept them pressed flat to the table. Flicking a glance to his side, Firmus could see that Pellaeon's lips had been drawn tight. Yes, they would do their duty to Lord Vader...and to Luke Skywalker, but that didn't mean they had to like it.

"Why wouldn't Imperial Center be safe for the Emperor, Admiral?" a dark-skinned ensign asked quietly, looking so baffled that Firmus almost envied the boy's naivete.

Piett raised an eyebrow at the junior officer. "What was that I just said about questions, Lieutenant?"

The young man paled and pressed his lips together so tightly that it looked as if he were hoping to fuse them shut.

Not far from Piett's own seat, a black-haired, square-jawed man shifted enough to catch Piett's attention. The man raised an eyebrow and tilted his head toward the embarrassed junior officer in question. Sitting with the other TIE squadron leaders, the man bore a distinguished looking mustache and goatee and exuded the sort of authority and competence that seemed sorely lacking the Imperial Navy. He was all of those things, but he was also one of the few on board that might be able to answer the junior officer's question with any degree of reliability.

Piett spent a moment considering the man before he nodded. "Baron Fel, why don't you enlighten the Lieutenant?"

"Of course, Admiral," the leader of the 181st Fighter Wing acknowledged, bowing his head politely. Turning to the lieutenant, Soontir Fel leaned forward, stabbing the table with his finger to emphasize his point. "With Emperor Palpatine dead, _anyone_ who attempts to claim the throne will be challenged," the colonel declared. "Lord Vader _might_ have been the only exception to that rule, but his son _will_ face challengers. Many of those challengers will be from the Imperial Court itself, Grand Admirals or the more powerful Sector Governors, and it is a near certainty that there will be those with the willingness and means to resort to direct, military opposition. In short, Lieutenant, civil war is something the Empire now faces regardless of who is declared Emperor. An internal civil war while the Empire continues its attempts to stamp out the Rebellion; I'm sure you can imagine how that will end for the Empire."

"Succinctly put, Colonel," Piett complimented, offering the Corellian TIE pilot a small smile. Losing his smile, Piett forced himself to carry on. "However, I'm afraid that the situation is vastly more complicated than even that, Colonel." Piett paused and took another deep breath. "I feel compelled to remind all of you once again that you'll be breathing vacuum if you repeat a word of anything said in this room."

Seeing their sober nods and murmured acknowledgments, Admiral Piett nodded toward the older captain at his side. "Captain Pellaeon, if you'll please explain the situation."

"Of course, Admiral," the gruff captain nodded. The man adjusted his immaculate, impeccably tailored uniform, the only sign of his anxiety, as he took a position next to a holo-projector. Pressing a small button on the remote he held, a large display appeared with the projected image of Luke Skywalker: Rebel leader, wanted insurrectionist, war criminal, Jedi traitor, and soon-to-be Emperor.

#

 **Three hours later**

 _This can't be happening, it has to be a joke. Even if it's true, so what? Just because Vader spawned doesn't mean we make him Emperor!_

 _Luke Skywalker._

The commander snarled inwardly, waiting as the silent, anxious officers funneled out of the conference room where the _traitors_ had revealed their plan.

 _This cannot be allowed to happen! A Rebel, a Jedi as Emperor? It's treason, pure and simple._

 _Sure, the other officers might know the filthy lies Pellaeon and Piett had spread, but it was only they who could push them into doing something equally treasonous. Kill the admiral and the captain, and the others would fall into line with whoever became the true Emperor._

His decision made, the commander waited in grim silence until his comrades had left the hall before drawing the blaster pistol he kept concealed within his boot. He waited for several more minutes, making sure no other officers would emerge from the room before he cautiously approached the open door.

He glanced down the hallway in both directions, making sure none were around to witness the _justice_ he'd offer to the Emperor. He shuffled forward until he was just to the side, listening carefully for any sign that there were more than two individuals inside.

 _No, not two individuals, two traitors to the Empire! Traitors who would place our enemy on the throne._

The commander slowly edged his way around the doorway, bringing his pistol up to take the shot at—

Something rammed into the back of his knees, making him lose his grip on the blaster as his body become unbalanced. Crashing to his knees, his mind didn't have time to register the gray-skinned, clawed hands that covered his mouth before the knife entered the base of his neck and severed his spinal cord.

The commander was dead before the first drop of blood hit the floor.

#

"He won't be the last," Pellaeon huffed out, looking at the corpse and the growing pool of blood.

"I have no doubt that you are correct, Captain," Piett murmured quietly. Glancing at the small motionless figure who stood nearby, Piett offered the creature a polite nod. "Thank you..."

"Khabarakh, my name is Khabarakh," the robed creature replied with a respectful bow. "If there are many who seek to do you harm, then there are many who will die by our blades."

"Ah..." Piett stated eloquently, searching for something to say before finally managing to add, "thank you for your service."

"To help you is to help the son of Vader," is all the creature said in return. Without another word, the small figure jogged away, traveling soundlessly as the creature prowled the corridor.

The two Imperial officers watched, shuddering as the death commando melded with the shadows at the junction of another corridor.

"You realize 'Khabarakh' just declared Luke Skywalker as his new master, don't you?" Pellaeon asked, grimacing. "And," the older man continued, "you just thanked him for killing Imperial personnel."

"I suppose it's something we both better get used to, Gilad; there's plenty of killing left that we, and not the Noghri, will be responsible for."

* * *

 **Six days after** **BoE** **  
Aboard the _Chimaera  
_ En route to Imperial Center** **  
**

The morning had begun with a literal 'bang' when hundreds of crewmen woke to the sounds of blaster fire, shouts and screams, and the muffled 'thump' of detonating grenades and small explosives.

That explosion of violence had been ignited by the fuse Admiral Piett lit during the initial briefing three days into their journey to Imperial Center. It had been patently obvious from the moment Luke Skywalker's image had faced the assembled officers that something was going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Despite the initial explosive reactions stemming from the revelation of Skywalker's heritage and Vader's orders, the crew _had_ eventually settled down and listened to Captain Pellaeon's report. When the briefing had ended hours later, the officers had left without a word, looking shaken, confused, and angry, but there hadn't been any indication that they'd try anything...untoward.

In the following three days, it had been eerily quiet throughout the ship but Soontir knew, just as everyone else who'd attended the briefing knew, that tensions were simmering and ready to boil over. This morning, the consequences of that lit fuse had been discovered across the ship in the form of a series of assassinations and a shipboard firefight _in the kriffing armory_ that had ended in the deaths of hundreds of Naval officers and Army troopers.

A group of naval officers had worked in conjunction with the better part of the Imperial Army's 237th Assault Battalion to mutiny before the ship had a chance to reach Coruscant. They'd been in the process of quietly arming themselves this morning when their plans had been interrupted and their plot foiled.

Having learned of the plot, the Noghri informed the admiral before proceeding to express their disapproval in a way that resulted in an impressive amount of carnage.

The sentries posted by the would-be mutineers weren't much of an obstacle to the small assassins and were summarily dispatched without having had the chance to raise the alarm. Secure in the knowledge that surprise was on their side, one of the few remaining companies of the 501st Legion had begun the firefight by deploying a large amount of flash-bangs, stun, subsonic, and chemical load grenades filled with the lethal Fex-M3 nerve gas.

With the bulk of the 237th mutineers stunned in one form or another, the stormtroopers of the 501st had swarmed into the large bay and proceeded to wipe out the larger force without significant difficulty. The dozen Noghri assisted as they could, but without the stormtroopers' breathing filters, they'd been forced to do so from afar. Despite their inability to close the distance with their prey, they were still able to demonstrate their lethality to the Army troopers with a simple blaster pistol and the cover provided by the nooks and crannies of the _Chimaera_. It wasn't long before upwards of 500 men from the 237th were dead, either from the firefight or from being executed afterwards. The battalion itself had been entirely disbanded after the remaining loyal soldiers who'd remained loyal were shuffled into other Army units to fill vacancies left by the Battle of Endor,.

The 501st's use of mostly non-lethal grenades resulted in their suffering an almost 30% casualty rate, having been unwilling to engage with anything more deadly than repeating blasters and concussion grenades. That was a decision that Baron Soontir Fel was profoundly grateful for; it might've been an uncharitable thought but if the 501st lost a squad of stormtroopers in order to avoid accidentally igniting a cache of thermal detonators inside the shipboard armory, well...there were enough holes in the ship already, they didn't need to make a new one while they were in hyperspace. The killing hadn't ended with the firefight, however, and it was several hours afterwards that the officers who'd failed to show up to their duty stations had been found. 188 crewmen in total, from technicians, midshipmen and warrant officers all the way to lieutenants and captains, all had been found dead in their quarters or billets. Every one of the 188 bodies bore a slashed throat or blaster wounds and were splayed on the ground with a small recording device providing evidence of their complicity in the 237th's mutiny.

The ship wasn't just quiet now, it was utterly silent as the crew realized just how dangerous of a situation they'd found themselves in, but being the experienced officers in the Imperial Navy they were, had resumed their duties with an impressive diligence. Yet even as they performed their daily tasks, it was difficult to ignore the gray-skinned reptilian figures whose brief sporadic appearances offered both warning and threat. The occasional glimpses of the architects behind so many of their comrades' deaths left Fel certain that any similar plans of mutiny were quickly being discarded.

Two hours ago, Piett had ordered the senior officers to a meeting to discuss 'recent events' and the elaboration and implementation of their orders. Piett had admitted that other ships in the task force were likely going through the same process as they and likely with far more blood being spilled in the absence of a senior officer like Piett. Still, the ships of Death Squadron were loyal to Darth Vader in a way few other ships in the Imperial Navy were and the stormtroopers stationed on board those ships even more so.

No, it wasn't hard at all to imagine similar events taking place on the other ships of the task force, likely even as Fel stood there, staring at his own starfighter. But even if it wasn't happening within the task force now, Baron Fel had no doubt that it would be occurring throughout the entire Empire the moment news of Vader's orders broke across the HoloNet.

 _Sithspit, there's going to be chaos when this breaks the HoloNet,_ Fel thought grimly.

 _Luke Skywalker_.

Baron Soontir Fel, Colonel and commanding officer of the 181st Fighter Wing, cringed at the thought of calling the man 'Emperor'. He wasn't even sure where to begin on the list of problems that would inevitably make themselves known when a Rebel, a _Jedi_ no less, was proclaimed as their new lord and master. _Sithspawn! How—_

Soontir's musings abruptly halted as he considered his musings.

 _Sithspawn. What an unfortunately accurate use of profanity,_ the Baron thought sourly, feeling a curious blend of fascination and pity for young Skywalker and the legacy he'd quite literally inherited.

In truth, it hadn't been as difficult as he might've guessed in accepting Luke Skywalker as the offspring of Lord Vader; Vader's behavior had long been erratic, volatile, and even contradictory at times when it came to the boy. It had been commonly accepted that, even if nobody knew _what_ was happening, they certainly knew Luke Skywalker was at the center of a maelstrom that had encompassed Darth Vader, Emperor Palpatine, and even Prince Xisor. Knowing that Skywalker had survived _them_ was enough to make Fel a firm believer in the man's strength, be it of mind, will, or the Force.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the aged, broken voice's plea, _'Now, go my son. Leave me'_ before that other youthful and vibrant voice had declared, _'No, you're coming with me. I won't leave you here. I've got to save you!'_. That second voice, the one that belonged to Luke Skywalker, had said those words with such earnestness, such desperation that Fel had been tempted to leave the room as if to grant the recording privacy. How was he supposed to reconcile that conversation with _everything_ that he'd _ever_ been told about either Vader _or_ Skywalker? It wasn't the conversation between a murdering, psychotic, galactic menace and a war criminal, it was the conversation between a dying father and his son. He supposed he couldn't reconcile it, not yet at least, but hearing that recording was certainly a beginning.

 _Luke Skywalker_ , Fel repeated mentally, sighing in resignation.

Lord Vader had rarely displayed much in the way of political acumen, keeping his few forays limited to intimidation, mayhem, and murder. Fel doubted that his decision to declare Skywalker as his heir, whether it was true or not, would be an exception to that ineptitude. Still...even if Vader wasn't much of a politician, he certainly wasn't an idiot either. No matter how much he might've...loved...his son, he wouldn't prop him up on the throne without _some_ preparation and protection. Remembering the effectiveness of the Noghri, and the carnage they'd reaped upon the men disloyal to Vader, perhaps he'd vastly underestimated the man.

Though Soontir was loath to offer any form of sympathy to someone like Lord Vader, he supposed finding out your offspring was fighting on the opposite side of a war would make _any_ father grumpy. The thought _almost_ made him smile as his mind conjured the image of Vader looming over Skywalker while holding the boy by the scruff of his neck, shaking his finger at his rebellious, delinquent son and telling him 'no, he wasn't really mad, just disappointed'.

Stars! What would _he_ do if he found out Davin or Chak had become rebels? He'd probably want to slaughter his way to get to them, too, and shake _them_ for making their mother worry.

The commanding officer of the 181st Fighter Wing clasped his hands behind his back and continued his vigil over the repairs being conducted on his TIE Interceptor. Most of the superficial damage had already been repaired and, if he was correct, the technicians were already working on that misaligned ion-stream projector that had nearly gotten him killed. Fel examined his Interceptor with a meticulous eye and made a mental note to remind the techs that he'd need a touch-up on the red stripes that adorned the starfighter's solar panels. It wouldn't do for the Empire's best to fly into battle looking as shabby as the Rebel fighters, after all.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye made Soontir jerk his head to the side, where he caught a glimpse of a short, robed figure darting out of view into a maintenance hatch.

Fel shuddered. If the rumors about their origins were true, those creatures had been the private assassins of Lord Vader and they'd made their presence known to everyone aboard the _Chimaera_. He wasn't sure how they'd come to be on board without anyone having noticed, but they had and they'd been exceptionally busy practicing their grisly trade this very morning. Given the admiral's intentions, Fel had no doubt that there would be plenty more work for the assassins in the near future.

He idly wondered if Skywalker had any idea how much blood was going to be spilled on his behalf because the deaths on the _Chimaera_ were just the beginning.

Every Imperial officer who had _ever_ committed or authorized a reprehensible act, every officer who'd betrayed the Rebellion, every officer who'd committed atrocities against human and non-human populations alike would see a Rebel firing squad just looming over the horizon. Just as fearful of falling into the Rebellion's hands were the Imperial Governors who ruled their territories as if they were their own private fiefdoms, managed and overseen by corrupt, greedy officials. They would fight tooth and nail against someone like Skywalker becoming the Emperor and Fel had zero doubt that they, should things go according to Piett's plan, would be among the thousands who'd disappear or be quietly imprisoned before Skywalker even had a chance to set foot on Imperial Center.

Fel sighed and glanced around at the all but deserted hanger bay, populated only by a team of repair technicians working on the TIE subsystems of several fighters and several dozen maintenance droids performing superficial repairs. He watched them for a moment, quiet as he contemplated the future.

Despite the imminent purge within the Empire, he was of the _very_ private opinion that it was long overdue. For all the corruption the Empire had supposedly shed during the transition from the Republic, he wasn't blind to the gross abuses of power and corruption that were still pervasive throughout the galaxy. Whatever he might think of Skywalker or the Rebellion, a purge had been a long time coming, a purge that _wouldn't_ happen if someone like Sate Pestage proclaimed himself the new lord and master of the Empire and if it was Iceheart...

Pestage or Isard, that's who it would come down to. It would either be the Grand Vizier of the Empire or the Director of Imperial Intelligence who propped themselves up and one needn't be a Baron of the Empire or a colonel of the Imperial Navy to know it. The very idea of answering to either of them made the idea of supporting Piett's plan, and consequently Luke Skywalker, _much_ more palatable. He wouldn't be alone in feeling that way either; the more moderate and apolitical officers would be relieved if they could avoid serving 'Iceheart' or Palpatine's puppet, Pestage.

 _And just how much does that say about the Empire I serve?_ Fel wondered, _and what does that say about me?_

Pestage was, without a doubt, one of the most cowardly and sadistic men that Fel had ever met. Having been one of Palpatine's closest advisers since before he'd even become Emperor, Pestage's rule would merely be an extension of Palpatine's with neither the ability to keep the Moffs in line nor having a subordinate like Lord Vader to do the same for the military. That left Isard as the alternative, a woman who wouldn't have forgotten his rebuffal of her advances the previous year and Ysanne Isard was far too vindictive, petty, and proud to let something like that go unpunished. No matter that he was a married man who chose to stay faithful to his wife, it was irrelevant compared to the slight she'd received at his dismissal. He knew, with absolute certainty, that she _would_ eventually come after him and his family.

From a purely rational standpoint, if he wanted to preserve the lives of his family then at least with Skywalker he wouldn't have to worry about his own government trying to assassinate them. That, of course, was largely dependent on Skywalker managing to survive for any significant amount of time. Soontir grimaced, he wasn't sure he wanted to lay any odds on _that_.

Fel growled in frustration. He _believed_ in the Empire, he believed in what it stood for but it seemed as if the movers and shakers of that Empire had never even tried to stand by their own words and ideals. Then there was the Rebellion, which was a complicated frustration all on its own because he _could_ and _did_ sympathize with their dissatisfaction and anger but couldn't ultimately condone it if the price was chaos and galactic-wide instability. And when it came to stability...

The Baron snorted, how would the Empire be changed with a man like Skywalker at the helm? He wasn't sure if he'd _ever_ imagined something that would be even _more_ destabilizing than the Rebellion itself.

He'd seen the internal reports on Skywalker, the ones that _weren't_ adjusted by Imperial propaganda, and they'd painted a picture of a young man who was almost shockingly normal. It was, however, impossible to get the true measure of a man like Luke Skywalker through a datapad but you _could_ do it by studying the people he surrounded himself with. Soontir Fel was in a unique position in that regard because of how well he knew several of Skywalker's closest friends. Oh yes, he could remember his old classmate, Han Solo, an honorable if brash fellow Corellian who'd had such a promising career in the Navy. Then there were his former students, Tycho Celchu and Derek Klivian, whose defection to the Rebellion had resulted in his reassignment to the 'One-Eighty-Worst'. If he were willing to set his bitterness and personal prejudices aside, Fel wouldn't hesitate to call those men honorable, intelligent, and hopelessly idealistic. To be constantly surrounded by those three, Fel had no doubt that Skywalker's character, if not his politics, was exceptional.

However, all of those concerns, frustrations, and fears amounted to nothing, not when there was something far more important at stake for him, or rather, for his wife. His wife, who'd been estranged from her family so many years ago, who'd believed her entire family killed when her parents' fuel depot had exploded over Corellia.

She'd been wrong.

The day he'd proposed to her, she'd confessed that she'd learned that her brother had not only survived the explosion but was serving as a member of the Rebellion. She'd been utterly terrified that her husband and long lost brother might one day find themselves locked in combat, a very real possibility given the nature of their positions...unless he supported Piett and therefore Skywalker. The squadron leader of the Rebellion's vaunted Rogue Squadron, Wedge Antilles, was the brother-in-law Fel had never expected to meet and was reputed to be one of Luke Skywalker's best friends. There was an opportunity to be found in that relationship, one that Fel wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of if his wife's happiness and their family's safety could be guaranteed. For the sake of Syal Antilles Fel, he supposed the decision to work with Piett and support Skywalker wasn't really much of a decision at all.

He knew it was unprofessional and downright immature but his willingness to aid Piett and Skywalker was bolstered by his gleeful anticipation of witnessing his old students' reactions when they realized Wedge Antilles's sister was the wife of the 181st's commanding officer. Even more enticing was his desire to have a holocam present to capture their expressions when they discovered that aforementioned sister was none other than famed holostar, Wynssa Starflare.

 _For the chance to see Klivian's face at that moment... I suppose we could do worse than Emperor Skywalker,_ he mused with a small smile.

* * *

 **Seven days after** **BoE** **  
Imperial Center orbit  
** **Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

"Now isn't that just a sight for sore eyes," Gilad Pellaeon commented softly, marveling at the ecumenopolis below that had served as the galaxy's capital for thousands of years. The center of the Empire, the seat of the Imperial throne, a jewel among the Core systems, Imperial Center gleamed with trillions of sparkling lights as the planet surface untouched by the sun stared back at them.

Firmus nodded and stood, staring out the viewport with his hands clasped behind his back. "She looks quite lovely from up here, Captain, but by all accounts, Imperial Center has become quite ugly on the ground."

"News travels fast, Admiral?" Pellaeon asked, glancing toward his admiral.

"Indeed," Piett stated quietly. "The...agents that Lord Vader sent with us have already landed and made their first report. Riots and looting were to be expected after learning of the Emperor's death but the Noghri have stated that there have been an increasing number of violent altercations including firefights and acts of sabotage targeting Imperial property. They're also of the opinion that those altercations appear to be far too coordinated to be random acts of anger or protest."

Pellaeon sucked in a breath. "The Rebellion, _here? Already_?"

"Probably not _the_ Rebellion, but certainly a well-organized cell of dissidents, I'd say..." Piett trailed off before swearing viciously. "Sate Pestage proclaimed himself Emperor the moment news of Palpatine's death reached his ears; his response to the rioters and acts of aggression have been..." Piett shook his head in disbelief, "Alderaan, however justified or unjustified its destruction may have been, was destroyed in order to terrify the Rebellion into surrender but instead had the opposite effect of strengthening their resolve to fight the Empire. Quite frankly, I'm astonished that the Emperor's top adviser hasn't learned that horrific acts of terror with the intention of pacifying a rebelling population can _inspire_ resistance as easily as it can quell it."

Pellaeon grimaced. "I suppose that means Pestage is killing a great many civilians and innocent bystanders in the effort to kill one or two genuine terrorists?" Pellaeon inferred, his question more a statement.

"Firing into a crowd rarely inspires loyalty," Piett stated blandly. "That bitch Iceheart has been having a grand time in the Emperor's absence as well. Quite a few disappearances that can't _quite_ be linked to her or Imperial Intelligence have occurred; all rivals of hers, of course. Truth be told, she'd be a much better, or more accurately, a far more intelligent candidate than Pestage to rule the Empire. But Captain, I swear to you that I'll put a blaster to my head and pull the trigger before I call Ysanne Isard 'Your Majesty'."

Gilad Pellaeon winced but nodded his agreement. "I may never have respected Vader but he, at least, was upfront about his punishments; from what I've heard of Isard, his methods were far quicker and less cruel. That's what you get from a woman willing to be Emperor Palpatine's mistress, I suppose," Pellaeon muttered, shuddering. The older captain glanced around the empty observation room before turning to Firmus. "Admiral, I'll follow your orders and see this through but I'd be remiss if I didn't remind you of the insanity we're about to instigate. If we succeed here, the Empire will be in an even more perilous position before we've even made contact with Skywalker."

Piett's face pinched. "I understand your doubts, Captain, but..." The Axxilan admiral let out a deep breath and turned to look Gilad Pellaeon squarely in the eyes. "Luke Skywalker may be Rebel scum, but he's Lord Vader's _child_ and a line of succession doesn't appear or disappear at the whims of those outside of the throne. We swore, as officers of the Imperial Navy, to serve the Emperor; the deaths of Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader make Luke Skywalker, _not_ Sate Pestage, the legitimate successor to the throne."

"He's a wanted war criminal," Pellaeon countered, mustache bristling.

"Perhaps, but if that's your concern then I daresay his hands are a fair bit cleaner than the others vying for power.," Piett said stiffly.

"What of the rest of the fleet at Annaj?" Pellaeon continued, "I'm hard-pressed to imagine them accepting Skywalker, especially after Endor and without the 'encouragement' of the Noghri."

"They won't, but there isn't much we can do about them, not yet. I doubt that a single ship among them will voluntarily serve Skywalker or remain with the Empire after news breaks across the HoloNet. Lord Vader chose the ships for this task force as the ones most likely to follow _his_ orders which is the _only_ saving grace that we have in this fleet if we are to fulfill our mandate. Our forces at Annaj will be dealt with later, one way or another."

Pellaeon huffed out a breath and stood quietly for a long moment, watching the frequent flares of light that were ships entering the planet's atmosphere against the illuminated backdrop of Imperial Center's sprawling cityscape. "What do you think our odds are that we'll leave Imperial Center alive?"

"I'd be more worried about our meetings with Isard, Pestage, and whatever other refuse joins us in the palace for the next five days. But if Vader is half the tactician I remember him to be, then I believe we have a fair chance." Piett gave the older man a wry smile. "Hopefully, the other assets he contacted will be able to save our karking asses."

Pellaeon let out a surprised laugh. "Well put, Admiral."

* * *

 **Nine days after** **BoE  
** **Mos Eisley, Tatooine  
** **Tatoo system, Arkanis sector**

The man groaned, waking up from a deep, blissful sleep only to be confronted by a pounding heading and a mouth as dry as a desert. Cracking an eye open, he discovered that even the slightest hint of light was like staring into the naked binary stars of this rotten system. This was, without a doubt, the worst hangover that he'd ever had in his entire life, at least since last week, that is. The lousy, sorry excuse for a planet he'd found himself on wasn't good for much else _besides_ getting utterly soused. In fairness to his ability to imbibe massive amounts of alcohol and other less than legal substances, a large part of his exceptionally awful hangover could likely be blamed on his being shot down while riding a swoop.

 _That's what you get for doing a good deed_ , the man thought miserably. His benefactor, his uncle, had instructed him to look after a stupid brat and sure enough, he'd found himself in not one, but two swoop chase cum firefights which had resulted in broken legs and a sore body. The man took a breath and immediately regretted it as the dry air was sucked into his already parched mouth. _The universe hates me_ , he decided, there simply wasn't any other explanation. This time without the deep breath, he tested his overall ability to function by sitting up only to fall back onto the bedroll with a groan as his entire body answered his silent question with a bone deep ache.

 _God, how it even possible for my hair to feel sore? Uncle D owes me for this job_ , the man groused, _owes me big._

A sleepy murmur caught his attention and, looking beside him on the bedroll, the man was delighted to discover a very naked cyan-skinned Twi'lek girl who was curling into his side for warmth. Jabba had good taste, that was for sure, and he blessed whoever had finally killed the slug because there was now a veritable bounty of pretty young ladies looking for a meal ticket. Continuing his thorough examination of the Twi'lek's anatomy, he tried to remember her name and only came up with 'Number One'. _Odd name for a girl, even for a slave,_ the man mused.

A bead of sweat rolling down his cheek made him grimace, as much as he appreciated the enthusiastic gratitude of the newly freed slave girl, the warmth she sought was something he and this entire accursed, wretched planet could use less of. Seeing something flicker in his vision, the man glanced down and furrowed his brows as he tried to comprehend the presence of the blinking light on his wrist.

"Oh, come on!" he groaned and let out a stream of invective to bemoan his situation in proper Corellian fashion. Seeing an empty bottle of liquor, or possibly paint thinner, he popped the cap open and took a large swallow of the hangover medicine and immediately let out a loud belch. Feeling an odd movement in the bed, he sat up with great difficulty and examined the bed upon which he and the naked girl had...

The man squinted, confused as to why the Twi'lek had four arms and four legs with remarkably different skin colors. Feeling his eyebrows rise, it took a moment before he comprehended that the extra slim, feminine limbs sticking out from under the blanket actually belonged to a _second_ figure. _Ah,_ he realized with glee, _that would be 'Number Two'._ Caught in a terrible dilemma, he looked at the bedroll and then back at his wrist link until he finally favored his sleeping, beautiful companions with a regretful smile. He slowly got to his feet and quietly put his clothes on, an accomplishment he celebrated by finishing the rest of the alcohol.

Turning back to the bed, he observed with a mournful expression that the blanket had dipped down, revealing the Twi'lek's perfect breasts and a young, tanned, human woman with long blonde hair cuddling up behind her. The man glared at his wrist link with genuine hatred, wanting nothing more than to insert himself between those ladies and allow them to express their gratitude for the next month. The wrist unit beeped at him as if it were taunting him, or knowing Uncle D, threatening him. He swore again and strode out of the rented housing unit before he fell into the temptation of disrobing and ravishing both of those pretty, enthusiastic, young women again.

The man's eyes teared up the moment he stepped outside, a result of the blazing light reflected from the sand by the twin suns of the Tatoo system. Shading his eyes, he made his way deeper into Mos Eisley, occasionally glaring at his wrist link or alternatively swearing at it for a change of pace. After an embarrassingly long amount of time spent combing the spaceport for his ship in his half-hungover, half-inebriated daze, he finally found the docking bay where he'd landed his heavily modified _DeepWater_ freighter. Escaping into the blessed darkness of his home, he immediately took a seat in front of the subspace transceiver unit to review the transmission he'd received.

"This better be good, Uncle D," the man growled, "or so help me I'll..." The man paused and grimaced as he remembered his target audience. "Or I'll be upset," he finished lamely. Inputting the details, he groaned as the results populated on the screen. "A messenger drone?" the man groaned, "what in the Sith hell were you doing with one of those ancient hunks of junk?"

Glancing around, he found a half-full bottle of Lomin ale and took a large swallow, sighing in contentment as the cool alcohol soothed his dry throat. Propping his feet on the console, the man began the arduous process of decrypting the message transmitted by the drone. As he waited, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly was so pressing that Uncle D needed to contact him so soon after his last job but he allowed himself to set that curiosity aside while he contemplated the more pressing question about what Number One and Number Two might be doing on the bedroll at that moment. He sighed happily, memories from the night before finally filtering back into his awareness until there was a soft chime. Pressing a button, the man put the message on a larger viewscreen and began to read.

Wrenga Jixton's ship was silent for a time as the man reviewed the message, a silence that was eventually broken by the sound of shattering glass as the bottle of ale dropped from Jix's hands onto the deck. When he finally finished reading the message, he went back to the beginning and re-read it, and then re-read it again just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. After ensuring that the message was genuine and that he wasn't hallucinating, Jix stared sightlessly at the screen for long minutes before he leaned back and sighed. "Alright, Uncle D, for you, I'll do this."

He glanced furtively back at the message as if making sure nothing had changed. "For you and that two million credits, I'll do it," he amended.

* * *

 **Nine days after** **BoE  
** **Myrkr, Nouane sector**

"Boss?"

"What is it, Aves?"

"We received a message from a man named Wrenga Jixton, he's—"

"Yes, yes, smuggler, trader, and probable agent of the Empire," a man with black hair and an immaculate goatee interrupted.

"He has a job offer," the young, blonde-haired man continued calmly, "Long-distance holocomm, I placed him on hold in the communications room."

"That's awfully presumptuous of you, Aves, do you have something you'd like to share?" the impeccably tailored man inquired without rancor.

Aves shrugged. "He seems far too comfortable and confident, even for a Corellian, to be karking around. He's more intent, more serious than any of our information would suggest; it was out of character therefore making his call interesting."

"Interesting, you say? You _do_ know me well," Talon Karrde smiled before growing more serious. Stroking his goatee, the information broker studied his subordinate before asking the most pressing question on his mind. "We haven't been here long, Aves, and we don't exactly broadcast our presence, do you know how he knew to contact us here?"

"'e says Darth Vader told him," Aves answered with a raised eyebrow.

Karrde smiled. "How _interesting_."

#

"Wrenga Jixton, how might I be of service," Karrde asked, sketching a polite half-bow.

"Karrde," the burly Corellian acknowledged. "Please call me Jix. Nice to meet you in person, so to speak. Got a job, if you're interested, probably one of the easiest, best-paying jobs you'll ever get," the Corellian stated bluntly. "Might be willing to buy some information as well."

"Let's start with the information you're looking for," Karrde suggested, "my associates can pull the data while we talk about this potential job offer."

"Fair 'nough," Jix agreed. "I'm looking for information on the whereabouts of a group of individuals as well as the quickest means of contacting them. There'd be a bonus if you're willing to contact them and issue the contracts on my behalf."

"What type of individuals are you hoping to contact, Mr. Jixton?" Talon asked coolly.

"Bounty hunters and assassins," the Corellian replied without hesitation. "I've heard you don't like their lot but I'll make it worth your while to contact them and extend the offers; you don't need to take any other part of the process. If not, then I'd take whatever information you have and contact them myself."

Talon Karrde examined the man, looking into the man's intense eyes that held little of the humor he was reputed to have. Coming to a decision, he nodded at the man. "7,500 credits for information, 12,500 for contact."

Jix tilted his head. "Excellent! I'll send you the data burst with the list of contacts as well as the bounty information, they'll contain the information necessary to retrieve their payments. I don't expect any of them to be easy to find now that the Bounty Hunter's Guild folded, but if you could put a special effort into contacting Zuckuss, Tinian l'att Azur-Jamin, and Chenlambec, I'd appreciate it. The Fpi assassins, too, for that matter."

Karrde inclined his head. He turned to the side to glance at Aves and nodded. "Aves, please see to it that the data collection gets started."

"Right away, boss."

Turning back to Wrenga Jixton, Talon stroked his beard. "These jobs of yours, I suppose they'd be on behalf of your former patron?" he ventured.

"That's right," Jix raised his chin and gave a curt nod. "That a problem?"

Karrde stroked his mustache in thought. "Tell me the details of that job and I'll tell you if it's a problem."

Jix grinned.

"Vader thought it was quite fortuitous that you moved your base of operations to Myrkr, said it happened to have an incredibly rare natural resource, one found in no other place in the galaxy. He wants you, or a trusted associate, to meet with an agent on Imperial Center and hand a number of the aforementioned resources over. Half payment now, half after, 250,000 creds in total."

"Ysalamiri?" the smuggler asked with raised brows.

"That's right. Bring at least a dozen and you'll be meeting one of his agents at a diner on Imperial Center to confirm the transaction. Your contact would be one of Vader's trusted bodyguards, these sort of short, creepy, reptil—"

"Yes, the Noghri, I'm aware of them and their formidable reputation," Talon interjected.

"Of course you are," Jix grinned, shaking his head. "Anyway, at the meeting location, they'll hand you the access codes for a bank account with the rest of your payment while you give us the information to retrieve the critters. Vader's even willing to give you a set of access codes that you can use to get in and out of the system with no questions asked."

Karrde whistled in surprise and raised a brow. "Wherein lies the catch?"

"No catch, not really," Jix declared, "it's as much an issue of timing as it is an issue of trust. You're the only one who can get to Imperial Center with the beasties in the necessary amount of time while being trustworthy to boot."

"One moment, Jix." Karrde held up a finger to the Corellian and glanced at Aves.

The image froze.

Aves tilted his head and murmured, "hard to take sides when you're doing work for a dead man."

"Not when the dead man is Darth Vader," Karrde corrected, smoothing his mustache as he considered his options. "Helping him, even dead, might very well place us in the Empire's pocket whether we like it or not."

"Easy, good money like he said, along with them Imperial access codes? Hell, they'd be worth just as much as the job itself and damned if that man wasn't more upfront and serious as I'd ever heard any client," Aves remarked.

"Signal source?"

Aves whistled sharply and repeated Karrde's question. A young man scampered out from a nearby computer bank. "Tatooine, boss."

"Which would explain the timing aspect of the job," Karrde remarked quietly and began drumming his fingers on his chair. "Were you aware that there is currently a very select group of the most powerful individuals in the Empire that have been meeting in the Imperial Palace for the last two days? Among them is Darth Vader's second-in-command of Death Squadron, Admiral Piett, who was believed to have perished at the Battle of Endor."

"So he didn't die, can't say I'm not surprised that Pestage would be grilling his ass for answers about what happened. What are you thinkin' boss?"

"Well, Aves, I'm thinking that if Vader is hoping to give the Noghri ysalamiri then I'd say it's almost certain he intends to assassinate someone capable of using the Force from beyond the grave," Karrde murmured thoughtfully. "Who and why are far more difficult questions for me to answer. Vader's methods have never been difficult to discern but his motivations were more opaque where the Force was concerned. I'd have thought the target would've been Luke Skywalker but if time is a factor then it would be someone Imperial Center itself. Given the meetings taking place in the palace, I'd say there is a Force user among the attendees that Vader wanted to kill for one reason or another. It could simply be a belated act of vengeance, with Lord Vader's temperament it's undoubtedly a possibility."

"Takin' the job seems an awful lot like messin' with internal Imperial affairs, boss," Aves warned.

"That it would, Aves, that it would. However, if one were to look at the situation with a broader perspective, one could argue that any true rival of Darth Vader's power residing on Imperial Center is likely to be as equally foul as the Emperor or Darth Vader himself and it is my private opinion that the galaxy would do better without that manner of person ruling the Empire." Karrde sighed, "I am loathe to get involved in galactic politics but I am neither ignorant of them nor am I immune from their effects." The black-haired man steepled his fingers as he considered Jix's offer. "The Empire relies on absolute control to function and it must in turn be controlled absolutely by those like Darth Vader or Emperor Palpatine. So in a way, Aves, accepting this mission _might_ simply a way to protect our business interests by destabilizing the Empire and by extension its concerted effort to prevent smuggling operations."

Aves grinned and shook his head. "You've already made up your mind then?"

"Of course not; to make an uninformed decision is to be foolish and I have not come so far in life by being foolish. Aves, please put our dear friend Jix back on so we _can_ make an informed decision."

* * *

 **Eleven days after** **BoE** **  
Imperial Center**

"This is a bloody silly place for a supposedly secret transaction," Aves complained to himself, staring into his glass of ardees as he tried to ignore the loud commotion of the bustling diner. He swore he could feel a targeting reticle settle between his baby blues, just waiting to blow his head away the moment he—

"You have the ysalamiri, smuggler?" a voice hissed.

Aves jerked his head up, making a sound that might've been a shriek had he not choked on a mouthful of his drink, turning the shriek into an even more undignified squeak. While he coughed in an attempt to clear his throat, he studied the diminutive, robed figure sitting across the table; what little he could see through the hood of the brown robe was all gray skin and fangs. Remembering the Noghri's question, the shaggy blonde nodded and slid a keycard across the table. "Imperial City Spaceport, subsection 84B, docking bay 165. All loaded up for transport with the necessary nutrients in the carriers."

The being extended a hand, gray-skinned like the rest of Noghri, that sprouted a set of long, sharp looking claws. The creature's other hand slid a chit across the table, which Aves carefully picked up and examined. "Account details will be sent to your wrist link when we've collected the ysalamiri," the Noghri hissed.

A shadow was suddenly cast over the table and Aves tensed, looking up to see a large, grizzled Besalisk with a stained, white shirt looming over them, all four arms crossed in obvious disapproval. "I don't mind if you're here to eat, see, but I'd as soon as not have anything shady happening in my establishment, if you catch my meaning. Order something or take a hike," the self-proclaimed owner of the CoCo Town diner demanded.

"Very well," the robed creature hissed as it stood up. "We'll complete the transaction within the next hour, smuggler."

Aves eyed the still looming, still frowning, still very intimidating Besalisk. "Sounds good," he murmured to the Noghri before smiling widely at the Besalisk. "I'll take one of your specials and another cup of ardees, if that's alright."

"How about your frien—" the Besalisk stopped short, startled. Both he and Aves glanced around; the robed figure had vanished.

"Bloody creepy, he was," Aves grimaced. "I'll still take that food, if you don't mind...?"

"The name's Dex. Your food will be here in a few minutes," 'Dex' said in slightly warmer tones before trudging back to the kitchen.

"Maybe this diner isn't so bad after all," he mused and proceeded to drain the rest of his drink with a satisfied sigh.

* * *

 **Eleven days after** **BoE  
** **Honoghr, Kessel sector**

On a dying world, forgotten by most and valued by few, angry hissing and confused murmurs filled the Grand Dukha.

"We do not act because of what has been or what might be," clan Khim'bar's Dynast hissed, "we act because of what is. Our world _is_ dying and it is we who the clans look to for our survival."

"Are we to ignore then, that it was Vader who lied to us, who broke honor?" the Maitrakh of clan Tlakh'sar hissed back, anger causing her claws to create deep furrows on the table surface.

A chorus of growls and sibilant hisses answered her question.

"No, we do not forget, but if what we've heard is true then Vader is already dead," Khim'bar's leader returned. "Vader broke honor, yes, but he also spent some of his last moments attempting to earn it back when it would have been to his advantage to do otherwise."

"He just seeks to use us once again!" another clan matriarch argued.

The Dynast of clan Khim'bar sighed and nodded. "He does, he did. For his son, Luke Skywalker, a man we've all heard of. A human that is a leader of the Rebellion and perhaps soon the Empire, a man that will need all the protection he can get. A man with the resources and temperament to do what his sire would not. Yes, Vader seeks to use us again but it may be to our advantage as well."

"To do nothing is to die," the Dynast of clan Eikh'mir hissed loudly, "if we are to survive, if our people are to survive, then we must do something. Abiding by Vader's wish places us in the best position to know whether Skywalker will act as honor demands or if a blood price will be sought."

"You would do as Vader wishes?! Now?! After all that we have learned?!" an outraged hiss echoed in the Grand Dukha.

"What would you have us do! Vader knew what he risked by telling us of his betrayal, he knew what he risked by continuing to request our services not just for his son, but for the _Mal'ary'ush_ ," clan Bakh'tor's Dynast hissed sharply, sneering at the term for Vader's daughter. "He has broken honor, but his offspring have not and both hold positions of great power. Skywalker is a _Jedi_ and the daughter witnessed her world's death by her own eyes; they are _not_ their sire."

"It's a trick," Hakh'khar's Dynast yelled out, "we cannot trust them!"

"If it is a trick, then their blood belongs to us, but I know of no other power with the resources and willingness to aid us. We will have to trust again; it is merely a matter of whom that trust will be placed in," the Dynast replied flatly. "Do you believe the rest of the Empire will be sympathetic? Or that the other powers in the galaxy would bother to restore our world without expecting our service? The daughter is a Maitrakh in her own right through her service to the Rebellion and as clan Bakh'toir's has said, she knows well the pain of a dying world; we will protect Skywalker, as Vader has asked, but it is the daughter we must convince to aid us!"

The leaders of the Noghri people, the Dynasts and Maitrakhs who guided the clans, all glanced at one another in the suddenly quiet chamber, some nodding, others remaining silent as they continued to process the Noghri clan leader's words.

"What of the warriors already serving the Empire off-world?" an elder male from clan Tlakh'sar asked. "More than two dozen were with Lord Vader and we cannot know if they've heard the truth."

"We can do little for now. By the time we'd be able to send word to them, they'll have already carried out any of Vader's orders. When we decide how to proceed, we will contact them to inform them of Vader's treachery and our own decision," a Maitrakh of one of the lesser clans stated. A chorus of nods without a sound of dissent settled the matter.

"Then let us make our plans," a quiet voice demanded.

* * *

 **Twelve days after** **BoE  
** **The Imperial Palace, Imperial Center**

"We have dallied long enough, Admiral," Ysanne Isard interrupted with a withering tone. "We've had enough of your debriefings, of your personal opinions, of your captain's insights, and of your diagrams. We agreed to these meetings on the basis that you had sensitive information about the deaths of Lord Vader and Emperor Palpatine."

"You forget yourself, Director," Sate Pestage, former Grand Vizier and newly declared Emperor, interjected. " _We_ agreed to nothing, _I,_ however, agreed to grant the admiral time to elaborate on the events that occurred at Endor. However, Admiral Piett, I do find myself in reluctant agreement with our esteemed Director of Imperial Intelligence in that our patience has ended. Get to the point, quickly, or you can excuse yourself from our presence."

The other advisers that made up the Imperial Ruling Council nodded or murmured their agreement. The attending Grand Admirals and Grand Moffs remained silent but their bored expressions said volumes. Glancing around, Pestage smoothed his fine, violet robes and cast a distinctly smug look at his rival.

For her part, Isard looked like she was ready to murder Pestage although given that was her normal expression, it was hard for Firmus Piett to be sure.

 _Ah, business as normal then,_ Piett thought disparagingly, _Skywalker is becoming alarmingly appealing when confronted with this lot. Sithspit, I'm fairly certain I saw a girl scarcely into her teens in Grand Moff Tigellinus's quarters earlier, perhaps Lord Vader was even more insightful than I'd given him credit for._

Admiral Piett cleared his throat. "I quite understand, your Majesty, I have only a few more things to discuss."

A weary, exaggerated sigh came from Grand Moff Hissa and Piett forced himself to ignore the man's rudeness in favor of the blissful thought that by next week he'd either be dead or on his way back to Endor. At this rate, he'd happily take either. He opened his mouth to respond only to be interrupted by a groaning sound coming from the entryway of the chamber. Attention now diverted to the door, Firmus furtively checked his chronometer and discreetly tapped several buttons on his wrist link. Outside, the groaning sound continued to grow in volume.

"What the hell is that!" Tigellinus growled.

The stormtroopers and Royal Guardsmen in the audience chamber quickly took defensive positions around Pestage and the others, hiding them behind a wall of plastoid armor, blasters, and force pikes.

With the screech of tearing metal, the doors of the chamber bent inward before shearing off entirely, admitting a slim, feminine figure stalking into the chamber. Behind her, the scattered remains of stormtroopers and several scarlet-robed Royal Guardsmen were visible. "Gentlemen, honestly, how could you neglect to invite me?" The masked women continued to stalk forward, heedless of the array of blasters trained on her.

A single Royal Guardsman stalked forward, raising his force pike to point at her chest. "This is a restricted area, lay on the ground and place your hands on your head," a deep, masculine voice ordered from the red helm.

The woman's eyes narrowed and she raised a hand, pulling the Guardsman's force pike and into her hand. "Interesting weapon, the force pike," the woman remarked casually before dropping it on the ground, "but I like mine better. Get out of my way or I'll give you an up close view of it." Ignoring the stiffening posture of the stormtroopers, she took out a metallic whip to underscore her words.

"Lumiya, I presume," Isard asked dryly, "I can see the resemblance with your recently deceased patron."

"That's right, Director, and I suppose I do," the woman purred before narrowing her eyes at Pestage. "And you _'Emperor'_ , what good have you been since the Rebels were able to rout our forces at Endor? Busy celebrating and fornicating, I imagine, utterly thrilled with your new exalted status, are you?"

"Careful, _Hand_ , you forget your place," Pestage hissed. "Guards! Stand down! Now, tell us, why are you here?"

"And who exactly are you?" Grand Admiral Makati asked stiffly, ignoring her provocative stance and raising a brow at the whiplike object in her hand.

Lumiya raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Afsheen Makati, a genuine pleasure to meet you. I am Lumiya, Mistress of the Sith. Our good admiral, Firmus Piett, issued the invitation to me. He said that it was Lord Vader's desire for me to help usher the Empire into a new era—"

Her words were cut off by choked laughter.

"Did he now?" Pestage murmured, glaring daggers at Piett.

"Oh yes," Lumiya replied absently, striding around the table until she stood behind the closest of those who'd scoffed at her: Grand Moff Disra. "Is there a problem, Vilim?" She stroked a finger down the man's cheek. "You ought to have more respect for those who can control the very air you breathe."

"Get away from me, witch," the man sneered and batted her finger away.

Lumiya caught his hand and held it steady with the strength of her cybernetic limb. Clipping her lightwhip to her side, she drew her vibroknife and removed the man's offending appendage.

Vilim Disra, Grand Moff of the Braxant sector, screamed as his hand was neatly cut by the humming edge of the vibroblade.

As the man screamed, Piett sighed and checked his chronometer again.

"Does anybody _else_ have a problem with what I said?" she asked with a wide smile. "I may not be Empress, Pestage, but now that Vader and his master are gone, I alone walk the path of the Sith. Underestimate me at your own peril."

Ignoring the wailing Grand Moff, Isard raised a brow at the former Hand of the Emperor, "well, Miss Brie, what words of wisdom are you prepared to impart to the Empire?"

" _That_ name no longer has any meeting, Isard," Lumiya snarled angrily. Still glaring at Ysanne Isard, Lumiya took a breath and added in a calmer voice, "I have made inroads with a race known as the Nagai. I intend on using them to sow chaos among the Rebels at Endor and I will use that chaos to destroy our greatest threat, Luke Skywalker."

"I see the prodigal student has even inherited her master's obsession," Isard murmured with a half sneer, sweeping her white-streaked hair back with a casual shake of her head.

"Careful, Director, there isn't an Emperor around to whore yourself to for protection," Lumiya hissed. "You should not test my patience."

Pestage, the _moron_ , seemed more offended by the idea that Isard wouldn't grant him such personal favors than he did at Lumiya's assertion that he wasn't the Emperor. Piett considered those participating in the scene in front of him and barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at their petty cruelty. Glancing at the whimpering form of Disra, sitting in his absurdly expensive chair while clasping his bleeding stump of a hand. Disra hadn't deserved Lumiya's reaction but Firmus couldn't find it in himself to care about the conniving ass.

"What do you want?" Makati asked roughly. "Pestage is the Emperor now; Isard and the rest of the Ruling Council second him. You may be Darth Vader's most favored adept, but the power of the Empire is still Pestage's to command." The man sneered at the word 'adept' but ultimately maintained a steady, calm demeanor as he spoke.

Piett sighed; he'd always respected Makati. There'd been a fair chance that Makati would've been willing to back Skywalker, in fact, but he couldn't justify informing the Grand Admiral of their plans based on chance. He was about to check his chronometer once again when he heard the first, distant 'boom' followed by several more seconds later. When he saw the flashing green light on his wrist link, he tapped a button and stood up from his seat.

"Admiral?" Lumiya purred, "is there something you'd like to add to this discussion?"

Every head swung toward Piett, even white-faced Disra was looking at him, and the room was finally, blessedly silent. "I'm afraid, Grand Admiral Makati, that isn't entirely correct," Firmus said, almost apologetically.

"What exactly was incorrect about his statement, _Admiral_?" Isard demanded, still glaring at him through narrowed eyes.

Lumiya suddenly moved away from the others, eyes going wide as she ignited her lightwhip and took a defensive stance.

"Any of it," Piett replied with a thin-lipped smile. Turning his back on the others he walked away as the room exploded with smoke and blaster fire.

#

Lumiya felt the danger before Piett finished his sentence and readied herself for whatever trap the man had laid. She was willing to admit to herself that she was impressed at the man's temerity in standing at the center of the maelstrom he'd created. He was a strong leader, by all accounts, and he would've served her Empire well had his fate not already been sealed. No matter how impressed she may have been, no Mistress of the Sith would ever tolerate the betrayal of an underling and she was nothing if not a traditionalist. Small grenades were tossed through the doors that Lumiya herself had broken and after a series of popping noises, smoke began to billow forth into the audience chamber from the corridor outside. Soon, blue and green blaster bolts were firing into the chamber along with the occasionally thrown vibroblades.

Glancing to the side, she watched impassively as General Paltr Carvin clambered to his feet, pulling a hold-out blaster and firing off several rounds into the smoke billowing into the room before he took three blue bolts to the chest, leaving the man slumped in his seat. A flurry of emerald blaster bolts were aimed at a Moff whose name she couldn't recall. Only one bolt managed to hit the Moff but the burned throat left little doubt as to the man's status.

A flare in the Force made her leap to the side, successfully evading the flurry of bolts that would've surely hit her. She huffed out an amused breath; whoever Piett's allies were, they were certainly accurate and efficient killers. She sidestepped a flung vibroblade only to watch it bury itself in Ars Dangor, who had apparently been sneaking up behind her, presumably in an attempt to kill her with the garrote he'd been holding in the midst of the chaos.

Lumiya almost laughed at Dangor's fate, but the next sight _did_ make her laugh. Even as that insipid propagandist Pradeux ducked to avoid another blue blaster bolt, he turned and attempted to take a potshot at Isard. Isard, apparently having expected such an occurrence, had already found cover and her answering shot took the Imperial adviser in the face.

The Mistress of the Sith shook her head. _Fools, complete and utter fools._

Deciding that it was time to take action, she flicked her whip out, catching two smokey figures around their midsection and pulling them toward her. The top halves of two stormtroopers arrived at her feet, both with the insignia of one of the _Chimaera_ 's stormtrooper regiments. Lumiya searched the room with the Force, trying to find the nonhuman minds that she'd briefly felt earlier that were responsible for most of the carnage. _There!_

She drew her lightwhip back and cracked it against a lifeform detectable only through the Force and heard a pain-filled grunt answer her. She did the same and was able to drag a short figure from the smoke. Using the Force, she tore the robe from him to examine the creature who had managed to kill six stormtroopers and a Royal Guardsman without so much as a scratch.

The Sith almost dropped him in surprise. _A Noghri! Here? How?! Why would they be attacking Darth Vader's Shadow Hand?_ Infuriated by their betrayal, she used the Force to lift him into the air before twisting her hand sharply to break his neck. Sensing a new danger, Lumiya turned and flung out a hand to catch another thrown vibroblade with the Force before sending it back at its owner. Across the hall, three stormtroopers were caught in a concussion grenade's blast zone while a nearby Royal Guardsman stumbled from the smoke, hands clutching at a savaged throat.

Lumiya twisted around once again, glaring at the treacherous admiral who was edging along the hallway toward the smoke. She cracked her lightwhip toward him, smiling at his yelp of pain after one of the filaments caught the man across his calf. She leaped toward him, landing gracefully less than three meters away from him

Lumiya advanced on him, dodging two emerald blaster bolts that'd come from behind. Whirling around she lashed out with her lightwhip, decapitating Grand Moff Disra, the source of the potshots. When yet another green bolt came from behind, she blocked the shot with her lightwhip before snapping it toward Grand Admiral Tigellinus, disemboweling the traitor. _Tigellinus had such potential_ , she mused, _the fool should've known better than to try and betray a Sith...just like Piett._ Another flare in the Force made her pause and frown. It wasn't a flare so much as it was a flare that went out.

Her eyebrows furrowed. The room felt different suddenly and she wasn't quite sure how. It looked the same certainly, Grand Admirals, Grand Moffs, Imperial Advisors trying to avoid being killed by assassins while attempting their own assassinations. Smoke filled entrances and short robed figures destroying most of what remained of the Empire's leadership. It wasn't that, it felt like the Force had been... There were a few crates not too far from her, crates she could have sworn weren't there before. Narrowing her eyes, she looked more closely. _No, not crates, a carrier of some kind, with a lizard_ —

Lumiya's eyes widened and she jerked her head up to see Piett back on his feet, his own blaster in hand and pointed at her.

"You were never Lord Vader's favorite, Shira Brie, that honor belongs to Luke Skywalker, his son. And you, Brie, are a threat that cannot be allowed to live for the sake of the future Emperor. Now, enjoy whatever rotted Sith hell you find yourself in, you sadistic, twisted bitch," Firmus Piett growled, eyes as cold as his voice.

Lumiya screamed at him in mindless rage and raised her lightwhip to strike the man down. Force or no Force, she had been one of the Emperor's Hands, and this mere man couldn't—

Her scream of rage turned into a scream of pain as one of Piett's Noghri allies slid a vibroblade into her side, drawing it up her body until her right arm and most of her shoulder was severed from her body. The lightwhip, along with the rest of the arm, crashed to the floor in a mix of flesh and prosthetic pieces.

The last thing Lumiya, Mistress of the Sith, ever saw was the flash of Admiral Firmus Piett's discharging blaster pistol.

#

Isard kept running, making use of the secret passageways of the palace that only a very select few knew about. Though the traitor Piett didn't overly concern her, those death commandos that Vader typically employed most certainly did. _How had Piett even enlisted them into his service?_

A great number of her agents would be busy in the next few days finding that out; she'd have to figure out a way to put some of her assets on board the _Chimaera_ to figure out what Piett was trying to accomplish. She'd have at least one thing to thank the admiral for, the oaf Pestage was dead, a fact she'd celebrate gleefully once she'd reached the _Lusankya_. She tapped a button on her wrist link and waited.

Nothing.

She tapped it again.

Nothing.

The Director of Imperial Intelligence took a deep breath and began running again. It didn't matter if her agents outside weren't responding, it wasn't even particularly unexpected. Ysanne Isard was a woman who knew about contingency plans, about escape routes, and backup plans. As long as she could move, she could plan, and there was a lovely ship that would take her straight to the _Lusankya_ down several levels and a half klick to the southeast. From there, she could regroup and figure out what the hell Piett's game was.

She made a turn around another corner and stumbled to a halt with a gasp of pain. She looked down to see a vibroblade buried in her stomach, a vibroblade that was attached to a gray-skinned hand belonging to a short creature with long claws and a reptilian appearance. _A Noghri_ , she thought stupidly.

"Why?" she croaked and spat out a mouthful of blood. "You worked...for Vader...why Piett?"

"We served Lord Vader," the Noghri agreed, "now we serve his son."

"Son?" _I must have misheard, they couldn't have said_...

The knife in her belly slid upwards until it reached her heart, where it twisted sharply before withdrawing from her body.

The vision in Isard's heterochromatic eyes dimmed as she collapsed to the floor, where she spent the last brief moments of her life trying to figure out what the Noghri must have actually said.

#

 **Several hours later  
Aboard the _Chimaera_**

"If you were attempting to shave, Admiral, you failed miserably," Gilad Pellaeon murmured, looking at the deep, cauterized slash along Piett's leg.

From his bed in the _Chimaera_ 's infirmary, Piett gave Pellaeon a withering look. "As much as I appreciate your opinion, I don't."

Pellaeon chuckled. "Glad to see you're alright, sir. How _did_ that happen?"

"An agent of the Emperor, one of the 'Hands' that Vader wanted us about, with an odd whip of some sort. Seemed to cut like Vader's own lightsaber," Piett grimaced. "Suppose I should be grateful that I kept the leg."

Gilad nodded sympathetically. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that all of the targets were killed, including Isard who managed to steal away through a secret passage of some sort. One of the Noghri caught up to her. We're now able to state definitively that Isard _did_ have a heart because that Noghri damn near cut it out."

Piett snorted. "What else?"

"Six Noghri were killed, seven with minor injuries that'll only require a bacta patch to mend. 20 stormtroopers were killed in the audience chamber and 400 troopers outside of the palace. The fighting hasn't ended yet, unfortunately," Gilad reported. "We were able to recover the lizard creatures that the Noghri brought into the room. They called them 'ysalamiri'. Apparently, Lord Vader ordered them to make contact with a group which could provide such creatures; they claimed the ysalamiri would be necessary in order to destroy the Emperor's Hands. I ordered a stormtrooper detachment to keep an eye on their new caretakers in the palace."

The admiral nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "That would conclude the...proactive portion of our orders here on Imperial Center. I suppose we better prepare our return to Endor. Captain, I want a list of our ships' status, required repairs, and personnel lists. Any ship unable to keep up with us or hold its own in a battle is to be left here; replace it with a Victory from the Imperial Center Defense Fleet if possible."

Captain Pellaeon snapped his heels together and offered a smart salute. "Yes, sir, right away."

"And Captain," Piett added before Pellaeon left the infirmary.

The older man paused turned back to him with an inquisitive stare. "Sir?"

"Send an announcement planetside detailing the executions of Pestage and the others; call it an accident for now. They are to be informed that the legitimate successor to the throne will be retrieved and escorted back to Imperial Center. It would be best not to blame the 'accident' on the Rebels this time," Firmus said tiredly.

"Suppose not, sir. I'll have it done and send you a copy upon its completion," Pellaeon affirmed.

"Very well, carry on, Captain." Piett watched the other man leave the infirmary and sighed heavily. It wouldn't be long now until all hell broke loose across the Empire and it was up to him and the others Vader held in confidence to prepare that Empire the best they could. Stormtrooper detachments from the _Chimaera_ and the other ships of the task force were being sent on special missions all across Imperial Center and the other core worlds, either making arrests or disappearing certain regional governors, Moffs, admirals, planetary officials, bureaucrats. All were known for severe corruption, cruelty, or even war crimes. Most of them had been ignored or even encouraged by Palpatine's patronage but Piett was hoping that the Rebellion would perceive it as an act of good faith. Having the time they'd lacked at Endor, he and Pellaeon's had assembled a core group of officers from across the task force that would see to it that their ships and crews would carry out their duties faithfully.

Firmus Piett believed he was doing his best to pave the way for Luke Skywalker's arrival on Imperial Center, but he still had to make sure the son of Darth Vader was actually willing to come in the first place. He had no illusions that it would somehow be an easy process; the Rebellion hadn't managed to survive this long by trusting Imperial officers or their promises. But Skywalker _had_ to come back with him, he just _had_ to, or all of the bloodshed and reorganization would be for nothing, leaving the Empire in an even greater state of disarray than before. He sighed once again. He supposed he had better start on figuring out what the _kriff_ he was actually supposed to say when he made it back to Endor.

* * *

 **Three weeks after** **BoE  
** **Aboard the _Chimaera  
_** **En route to Endor system**

"We'll be jumping out of a hyperspace in twenty minutes, sir," a young lieutenant announced from his duty station.

"Very good, Lieutenant, carry on," Captain Pellaeon nodded before striding forward until he reached Piett's side at the viewport. There they both stood, looking at the swirling blue vortex of hyperspace as they each undoubtedly contemplated how the galaxy's future might change based on their actions in the next hour.

"This had better work," Piett murmured quietly.

"They'll be in a state of panic, initially, but eventually they should be curious enough to be willing to listen to what we have to say. From our early reports during the battle, one of the larger Mon Calamari starcruisers, the wingless variant, was the flagship. Transponder codes named it _Home One._ Intelligence believed it to have been under the command of Admiral Ackbar, the Supreme Commander of the Rebe—Alliance fleet. If Luke Skywalker isn't in an X-Wing, he's likely to be there with his closest associates: Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan and Han Solo. Intel named the latter as a General, though he hadn't been referred to as an official member of the Rebellion prior to the battle," Pellaeon continued. "Several transmissions from Endor's surface noted Solo being referred to as such," he elaborated at Piett's inquiring eyebrow.

"Charming," the Axxilan murmured. "Smugglers seem to be numerous and well favored with the Rebels; perhaps the Rebellion's ability to continually escape our traps or claim victory in battle suggest they know something we don't." The Axxilan grimaced at the thought of learning something from _smugglers_.

"Smugglers would be one of the few groups most proficient in hiding, deceiving, or escaping our forces," Pellaeon suggested, "it would seem to follow that the Alliance recognized that fact, and Admiral, I would suggest practicing the word 'Alliance'. It's a small thing, but something they'd appreciate nonetheless."

Piett made a noncommittal sound before falling silent. After several minutes, he glanced at the older man as he spoke softly, "we've given much to the Empire, Captain, so much for the sake of providing peace and stability to the wreck of a galaxy the Republic left in its wake. I am aware, as most are, of the less than noble qualities of the Empire but to turn it over to Luke Skywalker, and possibly the Rebellion by extension... Everything I've fought for is poised to become undone."

"And since its birth, has the Empire managed to provide either peace _or_ stability?" Captain Pellaeon countered quietly. "The Republic wasn't perfect, Admiral, and I was far closer to the politics than you. It was collapsing under the weight of its own inadequacy, corruption, and failures. Faced with that, the Empire remains the preferable answer to the galaxy's woes, but I wonder now, how much of that corruption, how many of those failures were the result of Palpatine's own machinations? It would explain how the Empire became similarly afflicted only a few brief years after its conception."

Piett straightened his shoulders. "He must have chosen Luke Skywalker for a better reason than that he was his son. He _must_ have. Lord Vader was no fool."

Gilad's mustache twitched and he said a very loud nothing.

"That'll be enough out of you, Captain. Vader _wasn't_ a fool and he must've had his reasons," Piett declared.

"Let's hope so," Pellaeon murmured. "Who knows, perhaps a farm boy from the outer rim is just what the galaxy needs."

"And I have a lovely beachfront property on Tatooine that's quite the bargain," Piett replied sourly.

* * *

 **Twenty minutes later  
Eloggi orbit  
** **Endor system, Moddell sector**

"...Lord Vader's heir and son," Piett began, betraying none of his own incredulousness at the seemingly nonsensical idea. Forcing himself to stand straighter, he looked directly into the receiver, unwilling to look anything but professional and confident as he finished. "...Luke Skywalker."

To his side, a pale communications officer gave him a curt nod. Piett relaxed and stared at the projected of the system, hoping that the Rebels wouldn't use his message as a reason to arrest or execute the soon-to-be Emperor that thousands had already died for.

"What now, Admiral?" Captain Pellaeon asked.

Firmus Piett turned to him and the rest of the bridge crew, all looking to him for answers that he didn't have.

"Now, we wait," the admiral answered simply and hid the tremor in his hands by clasping them behind his back.

* * *

 **Author Notes:** I hope I did a decent job at filling in the holes between the Battle of Endor and the end of chapter one! It took me a while to really figure out how I wanted to play the Imperial point-of-view out. A _lot_ the Imperial leadership died on Endor, a bunch of Moffs, a Grand Admiral (and another one captured and executed), and a bunch of Imperial advisers. Their deaths caused a great deal of dissension in the ranks, leading to the early fragmentation of the Empire following the Emperor's death. I know the Soontir segment was long, but I liked using his viewpoint to describe the goings-on of the Empire as opposed to one of the major decision makers like Piett, plus I was able to tie Fel into Skywalker's Imperial fanclub with firmer grounding than "Well Isard is a bitch, so go Skywalker!"

Antilles/Fel Connection: Further background - Syal Antilles ran away/left her home at a young age to become a star, which she did so (and very successfully so) under the name 'Wynssa Starflare'. The entire Antilles family (other than Syal and Wedge) was killed on their fueling depot on a station above Corellia. Wedge had no idea what had happened to Syal and had assumed her to be dead, while Syal believed Wedge had been killed with the rest of the Antilles family. It wasn't until later than Syal learned that Wedge was alive and one of the top pilots of the Rebellion, which made it awkward because she was close to getting married to Soontir Fel, the Imperial equivalent of Wedge (leader of top Imperial fighter squadron). Syal confessed this to Soontir, who basically shrugged it off cause he isn't an asshat.  
Ysanne Isard put the moves on Soontir, who rejected her, and knew enough about Isard to know that Isard would eventually either kill him and/or his family. In Legends, Soontir is willing to defect when Isard attempts (indirectly) to have him killed. Soontir was a believer in the Empire, but the leadership disenfranchised him to the point where the Rebellion had become more appealing. There was also some Thrawn stuff where he saw an alien doing brilliantly but not getting any credit, which pissed him off.

I had so much fun writing Jix and Karrde; they are some of my favorite secondary characters in the whole damn Legends universe! I'm still trying to come up with ways to incorporate them in future chapters but I don't believe they'll be making another appearances in the near future.

I was having a little difficulty in writing Lumiya's death because I wasn't sure if her death was _too_ easy. She was a strong Force user and was even able to best Luke in a lightsaber (or lightwhip) duel right about that time but she certainly wasn't all uber-strong dark side like she became later on. I mean, she was one of the Emperor's Hands, with all the Force and combat training that Jade received, but I figured between ysalamiri and the Noghri... I mean hell, the Noghri were able to fight and kill Jedi during the Clone Wars without the little lizards so I figured _with_ them, Lumiya was toast.

For those curious about the rank of Supreme Commander _:_ Within the Alliance, _Supreme Commander_ referred to the overall commander of any given branch of the military. Ackbar for fleet, Madine for special forces, Cracken for Intel, Muvunc for supply, and Dodonna (captured immediately after Battle of Yavin) for starfighter command. Mon Mothma was considered the overall political leader as Chief of State.


	4. Chapter Three

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** The history of Rogue Squadron seems a little murky to me in the period between RotJ and the book series. I know that they were active when they helped rescue Leia from Prince Xisor immediately before the Battle of Endor. They disbanded for Endor and split up into different squadrons for the battle (most formed into Red Squadron in honor of the pilots flying against the first Death Star). After Endor, Rogue Squadron reformed in time to fly as part of Luke's task force during the events of The Truce at Bakura. Then it seems like there's a two and a half year gap until the book series comes out and characters like Corran Horn come onto the scene but the time in between is pretty vague. Maybe it's just a literary device that I'm overthinking, but it still bugs me. If anyone knows what happened between Bakura and the Rogue Squadron books, please let me know!

I'm going to be tampering with the Rogues a bit but I'm doing my best to keep it close to Legends canon. Let's face it, the Rogue Squadron book series were some of the best books in all of the Star Wars universe, no doubt about it, and I don't want to ruin it if I can avoid it. The changes I'll be making largely applies to the characters that I'll be including in the squadron's roster. The ones less familiar to you are likely ones taken from the books but I'm endeavoring not to bring out the entire dream team at once. My current, working roster will be posted at the bottom A/N.

As always, thank you, everyone, for your support in my writing. I cannot believe how positive the reception has been so far and I'm doing my best to make sure my future writing can be held to the same standard.

 **Formatting note:** Bold, italicized text within brackets indicate _**[communication through the Force.]**_

* * *

 **###**

 _"Being Jedi is what we are. It's not the power we wield and the weapons we carry. I don't stop being a Jedi when stripped of the Force by an ysalamiri. The others are letting fear distance themselves from this basic truth. We serve the Force, whether our enemies are part of it or not."  
_ _— Luke Skywalker_

 **#**

 **Three weeks after BoE  
** **Endor planetary orbit, Endor system**

"Alright Rogues, lock S-foils in attack position and stay sharp; there's an awful lot of ugly out there in the black and it could be headin' our way any moment," Wedge Antilles, CO of Rogue Squadron ordered over the squadron comm frequency. He guided his X-Wing out of Home One's hanger bay, his squadron following behind him one by one quickly forming up behind their leader.

"You got it, Lead," Rogue Twelve acknowledged.

"Break off into three flights but stay formed up on me. Four is flight lead over Five and Six, Nine is lead over Eleven and Twelve. We're supposed to form a screen between the fleet and the Imperial fleet's position until High Command tells us otherwise," Wedge continued, pitching down 20 degrees for five klicks before leveling off at the flank of the _Luminous_ , one of the old GR-75 transports that had been with the Rebellion practically since the beginning.

"You know, it occurs to me—" a male voice ponderously called out over the comm.

Wedge cringed and fought the instinctive urge to hit the eject button and save himself from being subjected to the rest of Rogue Five's inner monolog. The chorus of groans that echoed over the net gave Wedge a small measure of reassurance in that he, at least, wasn't the only one.

"Please no," a small voice whimpered over the channel.

"It occurred to me," Wes Janson began again, speaking over the symphony of irritated groans and pleas for mercy, "that we, as noble warriors of the Rebellion, have been remiss in our duty to honor the very finest among our ranks."

"If there exists a higher deity that possesses a modicum of mercy then the Empire will attack us and end whatever travesty you are preparing to unleash upon our minds," Tycho muttered.

"What will be, will be, my young friend," Wes murmured soothingly. "All is as the Force wills it."

Wedge had to bite his lip to avoid joining in on the groans of disgust that momentarily drowned out Janson's voice.

"But as I said, comrades," the Taanabian pilot added loudly, "we have been remiss!"

"And just how have we been remiss, Mister Janson?" Hobbie asked innocently.

"Cut the chatter," Wedge ordered, hoping he sounded less desperate than he actually felt.

"I will not be silenced by your small-minded prejudices!" Janson replied defiantly.

"I'll put you on KP for a month," Wedge hissed.

"Probably not even then!"

"We really should clear the channel, you know. Gossiping and nagging one's CO in the middle of combat is generally frowned upon," Tycho chastised gently.

Wes Janson retorted with his usual eloquence by blowing a raspberry into his mic.

"Aw, come on, Lead, he deserves to be heard at least," Hobbie called out, "Janson's a hero himself, you know? He has so many shiny medals!"

"Yeah, Lead! Janson's undoubtedly _horrifying_ plan to correct our neglected obligation is worth listening to if it gives us a chance to regain our honor," Plourr Ilo coaxed cheerfully.

"Janson...honor...does not compute," Tycho huffed.

"Nevermind that sourpuss of an Alderaanian, Lead. Even our Princess agrees with us and are you _really_ willing to argue against royalty?" Hobbie demanded.

"Hmm, perhaps 'agree' is a _tad_ strong in regard to my statement," Plourr admitted.

A series of barks and growls echoed over the comm, preceding the textual display of, 'I'D RATHER BE TIED DOWN AND SET ON FIRE THAN HEAR MORE OF THIS'.

"That's a little harsh, Riv," Janson noted in a wounded voice, "but I'm willing to overlook it, knowing that you're still frustrated with the fleas you acquired from that lovely Selonian you met on Corellia."

Wedge didn't bother to look for a translation as a low growl seemed to vibrate throughout his skull from the squadron's comm frequency. It was a well-known fact that Shistavanens could say a whole lot without actually saying a damn word.

"Well?" Janson asked coquettishly, the word drawn out in such a way as to inflict maximum irritation.

Rolling his eyes, Wedge cut the throttle to coast at the side of one of the MC80s. "Speak, Janson."

"Well, Lead, I'm _so_ glad you're willing to hear me out," Janson replied with a truly nauseating degree of enthusiasm. "You see, all of us are forgetting something, something vital about our victory. Do you know what we're forgetting, Three?"

"No, pray tell us," Kirst encouraged, earnestness positively oozing with each word.

"Don't mind if I do!"

Wedge groaned. He hated it when Janson was in a happy mood and only _he_ could be happy when there was a fleet of Star Destroyers ready to knock on their door at any moment.

"So," Wes replied in an annoyingly cheerful voice. "After the destruction of the _first_ Death Star, the Rebellion had a new hero. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed, country bumpkin who thought killing the Death Star would be just like shooting varmints back on the farm. Our own up and coming Jedi wonderboy who'd never even piloted a ship out of Tatooine's atmosphere and still managed to do the impossible. But I ask you this, is that really so impressive?"

"Nine, can you get a clear shot on Janson?" Wedge wondered aloud.

"On it, Lead," Tycho replied.

"I don't think it's very fair that you aren't even willing to give him a chance, Lead," Will Scotian weighed in with mock-severity. "It doesn't send a very positive message to the rest of us."

"It's as if you don't even care about our thoughts and feelings," opined the Rodian squad member, Standro Jcir.

"Because I tell you, ladies, gentlemen, and creatures in-between, there is an even greater hero who was critical in the Rebellion's victory three weeks ago," Wes continued, basking in the support of his evil supporters.

"And just who might that be?" Will Scotian asked.

"Don't encourage him, Two!" Tycho barked out, "Eleven, Four, stop enabling Janson, you should know better than that."

"How's your seat feeling, Lead?" Janson asked.

Wedge, who had just been shifting in his unusually lumpy seat, froze.

"It is a gift of his people, Lead, a representation of the _true_ hero of the Battle of Endor," Janson replied cheerfully. "Go on, take a peek."

Wedge Antilles, Commander of the Rebellion's best starfighter squadron and veteran of two Death Star runs, felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Janson's dare settled into the ensuing silence. He knew he should just ignore, he _knew_ it, but... A dare was a dare and no Rogue worth his salt would back away from one issued by Wes Janson.

Keeping an eye on the viewport in an effort to avoid slamming his X-Wing into a friendly ship and thus deprive his squadron of an excellent commanding officer, Wedge carefully reached under his seat and found the hard lump of a box. Leaning forward to give himself more reach, he felt a slight opening in the box and reached in, withdrawing something soft...something furry. Something...

Wedge took out the small item and held it up with one hand while the other remained busy keeping his ship flying straight. A sudden flash across his vision made him swear viciously and he fought the instinctive reaction to cover his eyes, managing to keep his hand on the stick only by sheer dint of will and years of experience.

"Yub yub, Commander!"

The channel suddenly erupted with laughter, a laughter that endured his attempts to silence them and clear the channel. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he finally saw what had provoked the outpouring of hysterical laughter, giggles, and amused barks. On the X-Wing's computer screen was a picture of him, holding...

"Lieutenant Ketch, reporting for duty," Janson crowed.

Wedge stared at the stuffed toy he held in horror, wondering how he could even continue to be surprised by Wes Janson's...depravity. Absentmindedly taking the squadron into another lazy, spiraling loop around the big Mon Calamari cruiser they'd been flanking, he idly wondered what his life would've been like if his squadron was comprised of respectful, efficient, and sane pilots.

"Lieutenant Kettch is merely a symbolic representation of the _true_ heroes of the Battle of Endor, though one could claim accurately that the icon you hold is a specific depiction of Wicket."

"Wicket?" Wedge repeated dumbly.

"Wicket! The Ewok hero who befriended the last Princess of Alderaan, the noble figure who led his people into a triumphant victory against the evil forces of the Empire!" Janson boomed.

There was a loud cough and several sources of choked laughter that came over the comm channel.

"Lead," Janson chided, sounded profoundly disappointed, "it's just like the Empire to completely ignore an indigenous species, but I'd have expected better of you. C-3PO told me _all_ about his bravery, you see. It's been said that his battle cry is something to behold, a truly fearsome thing," Janson continued cheerfully, sounding as cheesy as those recruitment vids that were distributed everywhere they went.

"Oh my, it must be fearsome indeed to drive off the cruel, merciless soldiers of the Empire," Hobbie simpered.

Wedge wished desperately that the Imps would attack right about now with a third Death Star or that the sun would go nova; he'd take either at this point.

"Oh yes, Four. I heard it from Princess Leia herself that Wicket growled and bellowed his battle cry to his foes before leading his people in their fearless attack. The Battle of Endor marks the day when "Yub yub!" became a cry that would drive fear into the hearts of the dark servants of the Empire," Janson finished.

The channel erupted with laughter and Wedge could even hear the barking laughter of Riv Shiel joining in. _I really should check with Luke to see if it'd be using the dark side if he used a mind-trick on Janson to convince him to walk into the next High Command meeting naked._

Still staring at the stuffed toy, Wedge took a moment to truly appreciate the thing he held in his hand. Dressed in an orange flight suit, complete with a flight helmet and a place to secure a spear across the back, the black eyes of an Ewok stared up at him from a brown, fluffy body. It was possibly the cutest thing he'd ever seen and Wedge couldn't wait to space it, incinerate it, or possibly beg Luke for his lightsaber and dismember it.

Looking at his face on the computer screen, the face that looked utterly horrified while holding the stuffed Ewok, Wedge silently counted to ten before a sly grin appeared on his face. Resetting the X-Wing's display, he all but purred, "Janson...did you plant a surveillance device in your superior officer's combat vessel?" Wedge waited for a beat before adding, "and also deliberately set an unnecessary flash on the holocam that might've put my life and therefore the ship at risk?"

"Surveillance and risk are such...harsh words," Wes hedged cautiously.

"Ooh, you're in trouble!" Hobbie cooed.

"Four," Wedge interjected, his smile growing wider, "was it _your_ idea to transmit the image and implant a command to force it to override the normal display?"

Silence across the channel. Blessed, lovely silence.

"Would it make you feel better, Commander, if I made sure that all ships in the transmitter's range were given the opportunity to view the beauty that is your face?" Hobbie asked worriedly. "I encountered some difficulties limiting it to the squadron."

Wedge's smile vanished. "What?"

A sudden, harsh burst of static rang in Wedge's ears as a voice cut into his personal frequency.

"Commander Antilles?"

In that moment, Wedge Antilles hated the universe more than he had in a long, long time. Girding his loins, he let out a breath before replying. "Captain Verrack," he acknowledged.

There was a moment of tense silence and Wedge could've sworn he heard the distant sound of laughter from the bridge of the _Maria_.

"I am a firm believer that a cruiser's gunners are always in need of practice...are there any pilots you'd like to volunteer? Two of them, maybe? From what I understand of your squadron's...eccentricities, I imagine _they'd_ be the source of this fascinating image that was recently superimposed upon several of our less secured terminals," the Mon Calamari captain wondered.

 _I hate you, Janson and Hobbie, I hate you both so much._ "Ah...no, sir, thank you. I intend to find a suitable punishment for them soon enough," Wedge murmured.

"No doubt you will. In the meantime, I would ask that you limit their...proclivities to a time when a battle isn't imminent," the captain suggested calmly.

"Of course, sir," Wedge Antilles agreed weakly. When the channel clicked off, Wedge was immersed back into Rogue Squadron's normal frequency and into a channel that was once again silent. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

"You guys know why so many Corellians used to get caught and sent to Kessel?" Hobbie's voice rang out.

A chorus of groans echoed through the channel.

A series of barks translated into, 'YOU'LL HAVE TO DO BETTER TO TOP JANSON.'

Wedge gave another moment's thought to reprimand them and put the fear of their commanding officer back into them but gave up after a long, drawn out sigh. Wedge had learned a long time ago that with _these_ pilots, that sort of serious demand would be met with jeers and probable punishment by way of pranks. Wedge chuckled quietly to himself. Who was he kidding? This was Rogue Squadron and he loved them _because_ of their eccentricities, proclivities, depravities, and extracurricular activities. For all of that, no matter how much these misfits might irritate him on a near daily basis, Rogue Squadron was the closest thing he had to a home and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

"Because they were lonely for the rest of their family," Scotian answered, "come on, that one's _old_. Try this one: why is a Jedi Knight never lonely?"

Silence.

Glancing down at the toy still held in his hand, Wedge sighed once more and reached up to place it above his console against the transparisteel of the viewport. "Hope you like a good view of the stars, LT," he murmured.

"Because the Force is always with him!" the Brentaalan finished when nobody offered an answer.

Groans, even louder this time, dominated the comm channel.

Wedge was unable to prevent the smile that made its way onto his lips; he'd have to remember that one for the next time he had some time to kill with Luke. As the jokes turned back into the 'how many Corellians does it take' variety, he tuned the squadron's chatter out and wondered what the kriff the Empire was up to.

* * *

 **Aboard _Home One_**

 **"...Luke Skywalker."**

There was a pause as the room's occupants began squinting at the image of Admiral Firmus Piett, as if willing the recorded message to correct itself and apologize for the confusion. Alas, neither correction nor apology came, leaving only the shocking and dismaying truth.

Leia watched the other leaders of Alliance High Command carefully, all of whom were staring at Luke, at each other, or even at the ceiling, as if seeking some sort of divine revelation from the admittedly beautiful, smooth crafted Mon Calamari interior. It was easy to forget, Leia mused, that these ships originally began their life as luxury liners and unarmed exploration vessels and had been _modified_ to become the formidable warships they were. One benefit in that distinction was that the ship's ceilings _were_ rather lovely, as Crix Madine appeared to be discovering.

She shook her head, clearing it of useless thoughts. She was in shock as well, Leia knew but it wasn't every day your brother was proclaimed the new Emp— Leia almost burst out laughing. _Luke as the new Emperor? He has about as much interest in politics as I have talent in singing_ _Gamorrean opera. Sithspit, he'd rather fly or tinker on his X-Wing with Artoo than do anything else. That or,_ Leia shuddered, _meditate._

Luke gave her an annoyed glance and Leia gave him an apologetic look, knowing he'd felt her amusement. Normally, she'd be annoyed that he'd been sensing them at all but she couldn't find it in herself to care about the minor intrusion now, not when things could go so terribly wrong. The thought helped settle her emotions until she was able to think more clearly about the ramifications of the admiral's announcement.

Electing to allow Luke to take the lead, Leia took a mental step back to observe how he dealt with the reactions of Alliance High Command's members. She projected as much reassurance as she could and hoped Luke felt her support but otherwise remained quiet and composed.

The first person whose feelings Leia took an interest in were Mon Mothma's. The Chief of Staff was normally hard to read but even with this news the ex-Senator of Chandrila seemed remarkably composed. Leia wondered what Mon might have known or suspected beforehand and made a mental note to talk to her former mentor about it later.

Madine's earlier red face had become white and he now stood silently, staring at Luke as if he'd never quite seen him before. Leia guessed the Corellian general was remembering the less than flattering comments he'd made a few minutes ago regarding the questionable consent of their mother to Darth Vader. It was ungracious but Leia hoped he felt guilty enough to set his indignation aside.

Gial Ackbar was Ackbar, inscrutable to most human eyes but if she had to name an emotion, she'd say Ackbar was more curious than anything. _Good_ , she thought, _curious we can work with._

Cracken stared at Luke through narrowed eyes, jaw clenched as he tried to comprehend exactly how it was possible for Vader's "spawn" to be none other than their own hero, Luke Skywalker.

Her longtime friend Carlist Rieekan looked tired, which was something of a norm for the older Alderaanian but he looked even more bone-weary than he usually did. But the man's gentle manner, often obscured by his gruff tone, seemed to have won out over skepticism and he looked calm as he waited for an explanation.

 _All in all, it could've been worse_ , Leia mused.

"Commander Skywalker, would you care to explain exactly what the _kriff_ that was all about?" Crix Madine growled, then blinked and gave both her and Mon Mothma a guilty look, "I apologize for my language."

The Chief of Staff waved her hand in dismissal but otherwise remained quiet.

 _Then again_ , Leia sighed, _it could be going better, too_. Glancing up, Leia snagged Rieekan's attention and murmured, "A moment, Carlist, I need to talk to Han."

Rieekan raised an eyebrow but didn't object as Leia strode to the nearest corner to give herself a modicum of privacy. Taking out her comlink, she sent a signal to the _Falcon_.

* * *

"Gotta say, sure thought we'd be doing something a little more exciting than this," Lando Calrissian complained, looking out the cockpit's viewport from the inside of _Home One_ 's main hanger.

"Yeah," Han agreed with a drawn out sigh, frowning as he saw a flight of A-Wings flash in and out of view as they patrolled the space around the cruiser. "Hurry up and wait; that's one thing I definitely _don't_ miss from my days as a loyal drone of the Empire."

"You know we _could_ just head out there and take escort duties like the fighter squadrons," Lando mused out loud. "We'd be considered proactive, I imagine."

Han rolled his eyes. "They told us to stay here in case we need to take one of the high and mighty to the moon or to another ship. Besides, I'm nervous enough just having you in the cockpit if we fly this thing out there."

"Now what's that supposed to mean!" Lando demanded, his voice instantly rising in irritation.

Han stood from the pilot seat and jabbed his finger against Lando's chest. "Well, I was just thinking that if you fly the _Falcon_ , she might come back with something _else_ missing!"

"Well excuse me for losing that out of date sensor dish while I was off killing a Death Star. Besides, I already helped replace that piece of junk!"

"Listen you—"

The comm alert silenced them instantly.

Han glared at it suspiciously. Lando did likewise. Slowly, their glares shifted from the alert back to each other until the alert flashed yet again.

"Yes?" Han hissed.

There was a moment of startled silence.

"Han, let the sensor dish go and join us in Ackbar's stateroom; Luke needs us," Leia's clear, quiet soprano echoed into the _Falcon_ 's cockpit.

"How did you—" He cut himself off, ignored Lando's chuckle and keyed in his own response. "How could the kid have gotten into trouble on our own flagship? Even _he_ isn't that much of a disaster magnet."

"Says the population of Cloud City," Lando muttered. Han glared at him, raising a finger in warning.

"The admiral of the Imperial fleet just informed us that Darth Vader named Luke as his son before he died," his Princess replied quietly before raised voices in the background drowned out the rest of her words.

Lando and Han looked at each other with wide eyes. Lando swore quietly and Han was about to reply when Leia continued speaking, her voice filled with a mixture of apprehension, confusion, and...amusement? "The admiral named him as Vader's son...and also as the new Emperor."

Han gaped at the comm unit. "I stand corrected on the kid's ability to attract trouble," he finally admitted and let out a humorless laugh. "The _k_ _id_? Emperor?! Sith, it'll be a race to see who can kill him first, how is—nevermind, not the time. Alright, we're on our way, Princess." Han clicked the comm off and stared at Lando for a long moment, his earlier annoyance forgotten. "This outta be interesting, you comin'?"

Lando stood from his seat with a half smile. "I wouldn't miss _this_ for all the spice on Kessel. You know if we can keep him alive for the first two weeks, we can probably convince him to get us a decent cache of booze. A month and maybe he'll spring for one of those gorgeous SoroSuub yachts I've had my eye on."

Han gave the Socorran a disappointed look. "Priorities, _General_ Lando. First, we focus on keeping him safe from the Alliance, then we figure out how to keep him safe from the Empire, and _then_ we'll see about the booze and the yacht."

Lando held his hands up in surrender. "Fair enough. Suppose I better make sure 'Emperor Luke' doesn't forget about removing that garrison at Bespin but that can hold off for a little while longer." Lando glanced at Han and then around them before sighing. "Maybe you should've taken Chewie up on his offer to stay? Having a Wookiee nearby wouldn't hurt Luke's chances."

Han paused and grimaced at Lando's suggestion. "As much as I agree with you, Lando, Malla and Lumpy were owed a visit. It's been far too long and right now the Empire is as hands-off with Kashyyyk as they've ever been. He has the codes needed to slice into the 'Net if there's an emergency, otherwise, he and the commandos will be back when they've finished the mission."

After Han resumed his march, Lando glanced at the deactivated protocol droid that stood by the entrance of the _Falcon_ 's ramp. "What about the droids?"

Artoo, who was currently plugged into the main computer running diagnostics, immediately withdrew from the terminal and beeped at them indignantly as he rolled over to meet them.

Han grimaced. "Leave the professor. Come on, Shortstuff, we gotta go save the Kid."

Artoo made a series of beeps that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle and followed the two ex-smugglers down the ramp. Passing C-3PO, Artoo rotated his dome to give his golden counterpart a mournful wail.

"So, which do you think they're more up in arms about, that Luke is Vader's son or that he's apparently..." Han trailed off, making an effort not to laugh, "the new lord and master of the galaxy?"

Lando shook his head in exasperation as they neared the hanger's main lift. "Cracken's just gonna be pissed that he didn't know."

"Yeah, that about sums up the old bastard," Han agreed, stepping into the turbolift with his friend.

* * *

"How did we not know this?" Airen Cracken demanded quietly, staring at Luke with a discomforting intensity. The Contruum native didn't yell or scream at Luke, just asked the question with the quiet air of a dangerous man who was extremely displeased.

Cracken's priorities were something of a mixed blessing, Luke contemplated. On one hand, it helped shift the focus away from their knee-jerk reactions of Luke being outed as Darth Vader's child, however, it also created the opening for judgments about possible collusion and why Luke had been keeping it a secret. Simply put, the man was more disgruntled at being blindsided by the situation than he was with the revelations of Luke's heritage and his status in the Empire.

Beside him, Leia had withdrawn and activated her comlink, likely calling Han in for friendly backup, an action that made his stomach instantly lurch. He nodded politely as Cracken began an angry tirade while he waited for his sister to finish. When she'd put away the comlink and rejoined the group, he touched her mind for just long enough to send a message. **_["Thanks a lot, Leia. Nothing quite settles tension with High Command like a Corellian ex-smuggler with a chip on his shoulder about authority."]_**

Leia gave him a sidelong frown, but her brown eyes held a glint of amusement that coaxed a scowl from him.

"Commander Skywalker!" a voice snapped.

Luke inwardly sighed and gave Cracken his undivided attention. Satisfied, the Chief of Intelligence began spitting out question after question about Vader, the Empire, and other seemingly random subjects without giving him the time to actually answer any of them.

Somewhere in the ether, Luke could imagine his father laughing at the predicament he'd placed his son in. _And to think I tried to save you,_ Luke fumed.

General Madine was still just staring at him like he'd grown an additional head while Admiral Ackbar was doing a lovely impersonation of a fish—Luke frowned, that wasn't a fair, or kind, assessment. The Mon Calamari was just damn hard to read, though he supposed it was a good sign that neither he nor anyone else had called for security to detain him. Yet.

Luke was fairly confident that they wouldn't go that far, but this wasn't the sort of revelation that could be brushed off with ease. At least no one else here would be able to follow his example and jump off a gantry to their probable doom; then again, there _were_ always the airlocks they could use to space themselves with. _Think positively,_ he told himself firmly. _Father told me I could trust Piett, let's start there._

"Excuse me," Leia interrupted, her voice like a whip crack, startling the others into silence, "perhaps we should focus on one issue at a time."

The members of High Command glanced at one another and then at Luke.

Carlist Rieekan stood up straight and examined Leia's profile, eyes softening at the subtle signs of worry and tension that few others would be able to see. Seeing that, he couldn't help but use her childhood nickname in lieu of hiding his confusion behind cold formality. "Lelila... You knew?"

Leia gave Carlist a sad smile. "Yes, Carlist, I knew."

"I told her the night before the Battle of Endor," Luke said into the quiet, "the night I turned myself into the Empire," Luke let out a shuddering breath, "and to my father."

"Then your father truly was Darth Vader?" Airen Cracken asked, face a myriad of conflicting emotions.

Luke offered the General and Chief of Intelligence a pained half-smile. "No, General Cracken, Anakin Skywalker was my father. Turning to the dark side, embracing hate and fear, is what led him to become Darth Vader. Letting go of his hate is what allowed him to turn back and destroy the Emperor, saving my life at the expense of his own."

Madine raised an eyebrow, giving Luke a flat stare. "Let's try that again, this time being less esoteric, please."

Luke sighed. "Yes, Darth Vader, once the Jedi known as Anakin Skywalker, was my father."

"The first interaction Commander Skywalker ever had with the Rebellion was when he assisted in my rescue from the Death Star in the company of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi Master that my father knew and had requested that I retrieve immediately prior to the Battle of Scarif," Leia offered. "There was no complicity on Luke's part."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," Carlist pondered aloud. "He was often seen in the company of Anakin; they were quite the pair during the Clone Wars. If I remember correctly, you'd stated on several occasions that Obi-Wan had told you that Vader betrayed and murdered your father."

Luke grimaced. "Yes, he did. I assure you, General Rieekan, learning otherwise was as much of a surprise to me then as it is to you now."

"Why would Master Kenobi lie to you?" Cracken asked, before blinking and frowning. "To turn you against Vader?"

The Jedi Knight sighed and found a seat in a nearby repulsor chair. "He didn't lie," Luke stated, his words spoken with such bitterness that everyone but Leia blinked at the atypical attitude of the young man. "At least, not from a certain point of view. Obi-Wan said that when Anakin turned to the dark side, he became Darth Vader, destroying the good man that had been my father in the process."

Luke's answer was met with a mix of frowns and puzzled glances.

"Commander Skywalker, when did he actually say this?" Cracken inquired mildly, sounding as if he were attempting to clarify exactly how insane Luke was.

"Damn, Cracken, didn't you know? The damn kid sees ghosts!"

Luke groaned at the sudden, unwelcome intrusion of Han's loud, brash voice.

#

 _"That man served the galaxy better as a block of carbonite," Anakin scowled._

 _Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. "You're just upset because your daughter is in love with him. I'm afraid it's a little too late to play the overprotective father and beat off her prospective suitors."_

 _Anakin scowled at his former master. "But that man...he's just so...so..."_

 _"A smuggler, a scoundrel...Corellian?" Obi-Wan prompted._

 _"Yes!"_

 _"All desirable qualities to your daughter, apparently," Obi-Wan murmured amusedly. "I imagine that comes more from her mother's side given whom she married."_

 _Anakin scowled at him and then frowned at Leia. His frown became a glare as his gaze fastened upon Han Solo's smug face._

 _"There is no passion, there is serenity," Yoda berated Anakin, slapping his gimer stick against Anakin's shin. "Passed into the Force, you may have but benefit you, the Code still can."_

 _Anakin yelped, grabbing his shin. "Oh, kriff off, you troll. How can you even do that?"_

 _"Mysterious are the ways of the Force," Yoda murmured, a glint of humor in his eyes._

 _Annoyed at Yoda's un-Jedilike goading of his old apprentice, Obi-Wan took the moment to interrupt before Anakin lost himself in yet another pointless argument. "I hadn't expected the Alliance High Command to react as well as they have."_

 _Blowing out a breath, Anakin shot one last glare at Yoda before giving Obi-Wan a small, grateful look. Turning to re-examine the scene taking place before them in the mortal realm, Anakin slowly nodded as he reluctantly admitted,_ _"they're being very...understanding of Luke's situation. I'd have expected guards to come in by now."_

 _"You should remember that this isn't the Empire, Anakin, they don't express their displeasure through execution," Obi-Wan explained. "Although it would seem that even from beyond the grave your capacity to eliminate your subordinates remains undiminished."_

 _"Piett did execute his part of the plan rather well, didn't he?" Anakin mused._

 _"Distasteful, your methods may be but understandable and not without benefit, they are. Did well to destroy Lumiya, your admiral did. A festering hatred for young Skywalker, she possessed," Yoda stated quietly, sounding both disappointed and resigned to the woman's fate._

 _"To be fair, those orders were given while I remained under the sway of the dark side," Anakin stated, "but that being said, as far as the Emperor's agents are concerned, I would order their deaths even now. Another Hand,_ _Roganda Ismaren, was located by a bounty hunter and killed by the Noghri two days ago; she was better prepared after learning about the events at the Imperial Palace and managed to kill three of the Noghri. But I can't find it in myself to regret spending their lives if Ismaren's death was the result; she_ was _a rather despicable woman. There was one more Hand I was hoping they'd find but Jade seems to have disappeared rather thoroughly."_

 _"She was the one who Palpatine reached out to before his death?" Obi-Wan asked._

 _"I'm fairly sure, yes; she was the most devoted of the Emperor's agents. She thought that Sith slime actually cared for her," Anakin scoffed. "She's a trained assassin and if she doesn't have as much raw strength in the Force as Luke, she has many more years of combat and Force training under her belt. I don't believe my son is ready to face an enemy like she and I worry that Palpatine has made such a confrontation inevitable."_

 _"To the Emperor, she was most devoted; by the Emperor, she was most deceived. Powerful is young Skywalker's ability to bring light to those lost in darkness. Saved you, he did; save her, he might still," Yoda declared, tapping the ground with his gimer stick to punctuate his point._

 _"If you say so," Anakin muttered dubiously and turned his attention back to the Alliance leaders' questioning of Luke's heritage._

* * *

 **Seventeen days after BoE  
** **Lusankya facility, Imperial Center**

She floated in nothingness, aware only of a painful throbbing and dull pressure within her mind but she knew something else was wrong, something more...elusive. Something was wrong with _her_ but every time she thought she understood what it was, she lost her grip on the thread and went back to floating in oblivion. She didn't know how long she'd been trapped in this place but with each failed attempt to regain her awareness, she sank deeper and deeper into despair.

But with her most recent attempt, she realized something was different. Something had changed in the construct that had entrapped her mind and she fought her own despair and weariness in her efforts to escape whatever had been done to her. Tentatively, she climbed the thread that was her awareness once more, becoming ever more alert of her surroundings as she did so.

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

The woman almost lost the thread again at the sheer overwhelming pressure the command pressed upon her battered consciousness. However close she'd come to sinking back into oblivion, she didn't and she climbed upward just a little more.

A voice called out in the darkness, a gentle, kind voice that was asking...was it asking for her name?

A whirlwind of panic threatened to overwhelm her as she realized she couldn't remember her name, her age, or even what color her own eyes—

Her _eyes_. Jade, her master had described them as. That was her name: Mara Jade.

"Miss, can you hear me?"

The voice was faint, nearly overwhelmed by shrill alarms ringing in the background. She tried to respond but her mouth refused to cooperate with her, leaving her restrained, barely aware, and unable to respond. She reached, desperately trying to find the last lock that would mark the way to freedom from this prison that had been constructed for _her_.

 _Isard._ That conniving, self-serving bitch, it had to have been her, Jade realized. Only a small number of the Emperor's most trusted circle knew of her identity and only one would attack her, incapacitate her, and _keep_ her in this state. Somehow Iceheart had taken her to the _Lusankya_ and had tried to play with her mind, to brainwash her into becoming Isard's servant like she'd done to so many others. But how had she been taken?

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

Mara gasped, images passing through her mind as she remembered the things her master had shown her. She could still see that dark room on the Death Star as if it had been engraved into her mind. She saw the confrontation between Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker followed by Darth Vader's betrayal and Luke Skywalker's complicity in causing her master's death. _Skywalker_ , she thought, the very name fanning the flames of hatred that Palpatine's memory had inspired.

"Jan, her vital signs are getting better, but we need to move before the Imps bring in reinforcements," a soft female voice murmured urgently.

"Miss, if you can, please open your eyes," the older male voice called again, "we don't have much time, you need to wake up!"

Mara fought the drugs and the remnants of the prison Isard had built to cage her mind until finally, _finally_...

Green eyes blinked open once and then rapidly as the dim artificial light filtered through eyes that had seen only darkness for more than two weeks. As she slowly acclimated to the light, her green eyes met those belonging to an older man. He had graying hair, pale skin, and a long white beard. He was thin and the clothes he wore were threadbare and hung loosely over his frame.

"Hello, dear, I don't mean to rush you, but we need you back on your feet very soon," the man coaxed gently.

She blinked again and opened her mouth and tried to speak but only an unintelligible sound emerged. "Wa-a-ter," she croaked, after licking her lips and trying again. Regardless of the reasonable expectation that she be weakened after so many days in captivity, she was ashamed of her state. If only her master could see her now, begging for water from a _prisoner,_ if his clothes were an accurate indication of his status; he would be outraged at her inability to take control of the situation and _take_ what was needed.

A slim hand flickered into view with a small, white cup and soon she felt cool water flowing into her parted lips and parched throat. She swallowed gently, taking care not to drink too fast lest she spit it back up. When the cup was empty, she asked in a hoarse voice, "who are you? What's happening?" The old man smiled at her.

He had a nice smile, Mara mused, the frivolous observation passing through her consciousness as she continued to recover from her drug-induced coma.

The other person in the room, the woman, snickered. The man, still looking down at Mara, smiled even wider. "Thank you, dear."

Mara cringed. She was more of a mess than she'd previously believed if she was blurting her thoughts out so carelessly.

Undoubtedly seeing her embarrassment, the man graciously moved on, demeanor becoming more business-like. Despite the grave urgency underlying his words, he still spoke gently in consideration of her weakened state. "My name is Jan and you're in the Lusankya, a private prison for Imperial Intelligence and their Director, Ysanne Isard, that they use for all sorts of foul activities." Jan hesitated, "recent events have revealed that our prison is actually a ship, a ship of enormous proportions and of a design that we've been unable to identify." The old man glanced across her bed at the woman with a nod.

Mara silently absorbed Jan's information before she shifted her head to look at Jan's companion. Cropped brown hair hung around the pale face of a human woman dressed in the same uniform as Jan. Unlike Jan's kind expression, this woman looked _hard_ in the way many war veterans did and her brown eyes were fixed upon Mara with the same startling intelligence the redhead had ascribed to Jan.

"You can call me Akabi or Jin-Rio, I don't care. Just don't get the old man and I killed and we'll get along fine," the woman barked out. When Jan made a vague, disappointing sound, the woman let out a breath. Continuing in a softer tone, Akabi relayed the information she'd learned. "Simply put, we don't have a kriffing clue what's happening beyond collaborating statements that we've...coaxed out of several of our jailers. What we _do_ know is that both Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader are dead. Sate Pestage declared himself Emperor but has recently, _very_ recently, joined his predecessor in the afterlife along with that viper of a woman, Ysanne Isard."

"Iceheart's...dead?" Mara asked, ignoring the twinge of pain at the thought of her dead master, but unable to conceal her delight at the news of Pestage, Vader, and Isard's deaths.

"That seems to be the consensus **,** " Jan replied with a nod, "and it appears that the majority of her senior officers and staff have joined her."

"Her people figured out that I.I. was being purged and started bugging out," Akabi nodded. Making a face, she met Mara's eyes and spoke the next words quietly. "A member of ISB sympathetic to the Rebellion discovered that I.I. was planning a mass execution of Lusankya's prisoners to help cover their tracks. That information and a few smuggled vibroblades were all it took for us to make it this far."

"Amazing, really, how quickly our jailers' rigid efficiency and diligence disappeared once they lost the protection of Isard and Imperial Intelligence's senior officers," Jan mused. "Once we judged the guards negligent and few enough in number, it wasn't difficult to acquire more, and better, armaments for our fellows."

Mara just stared at him, as impressed with the prisoners' ability to capitalize on recent events as she was aghast at Imperial Intelligence's inability to function without Isard's driving whip.

"Jan is far too modest," the woman said, shifting around the bed to squeeze the man's rail-thin arm. "He's the one who convinced us to do something. He's the one who figured out that we're on a ship, too. Isard messed with the gravity, but once we figured _that_ out we've been making good progress. Not a lot of Intelligence personnel left here, some surrendered quickly, and the others were delivered their fate at the hands of the prisoners they so cheerfully tormented."

Jan appeared to be blushing. "No, dear, I did not break them free, I merely encouraged them to break free of their own chains now that the opportunity had presented itself." He turned back to Mara. "Now, Miss, when we found you in here, we weren't able to find any information about you or what Isard had intended to do with you. Might I ask for your name?"

Mara opened her mouth, quickly trying to decide whether to use 'Celina Marniss' or 'Arica' but paused as she took a look at the man's face. Kind, old, and malnourished he may be, but 'Jan' was no fool and the glint in his eye suggested that lying would be unwise.

"Mara. Mara Jade," she whispered.

Seeing no flare of recognition in either of her two rescuer's eyes, she let herself relax. Though the odds of her name being recognized were practically infinitesimal, being caught in a lie would've been a sure way for her to be left behind. She didn't have faith that her weakened body was capable of fighting even the old man let alone I.I. guards were she to try escaping on her own, using her true name had therefore been necessary. In the interest of her survival and sanity, she'd willingly set aside her principles and work with _anyone_ that would help take her away from Isard's prison of horrors. If she had to dispose of them later to protect her identity, well she'd just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

"Very well, Mara. Do you think you can stand?" he asked, a warm smile on his face.

Mara answered by slowly swinging her legs over the bed, ignoring the unsecured restraints that fell away from her body. Jin-Rio Akabi took hold of her arm and ducked her head under it, wrapping her other arm around Mara's stomach so that she took most of Mara's weight.

"Now then, ladies, it really is past time for us to be leaving," Jan murmured and kept the hatch open as Akabi helped Mara's limping form out of the medical room.

Mara wanted instinctively to shrug off Akabi's assistance but the tremors in her body was a convincing argument that _this_ time, practicality won out over pride. She was herded to the side of the corridor when several other escaped prisoners with blaster rifles barreled past them, running toward the distant sound of a firefight. Letting out a breath, she forced herself to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Yet even as she concentrated on ignoring the ache in her skull and the weakness of her body, her increasingly clear mind began to focus on one thing: developing a plan that would lead her to Luke Skywalker.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** So I realize Rogue Squadron's antics took up a large portion of the chapter but man...I love those guys and I intend on them staying around. Better, I thought, to observe their particular brand of crazy in their native environment rather than spring it on you later. I'm also aware that Kettch's backstory was dramatically altered and I hope that my changes won't ruin it forever. With this being a (relatively speaking) short chapter, I'm fairly sure that I'll be releasing a _second_ chapter fairly soon (this week almost definitely). I liked Han's entrance, the Force ghost interactions, and Mara's blurb and would rather end it on that note rather than bring attention immediately back to Luke. Next chapter should prove to be a little more eventful.

In The Truce at Bakura, it was stated that the sensor dish on the _Millennium Falcon_ had been repaired by the time they departed to Bakura, however, Lando's status seems somewhat vague. He didn't go with them to Bakura and the only real reference was about him (paraphrasing here) having ideas about dealing with the Imperial occupation of Cloud City. I like Lando, always have, and I figured that since he was in the end shot of Return of the Jedi with the rest of the Alliance's 'A-team', he should be "in the know" regarding Leia and Luke's relationship to Vader.

No Chewie, sorry folks. I don't particularly like writing a character that communicates in growls (not even Riv) and I don't have a good enough grasp on the character to offer translations. So he's going to be conveniently absent for the early parts of the story, at least.

Yep, made a Rogue One reference. I liked the movie and it fleshed out a New Hope rather well. The gaping hole that just happened to lead straight to the reactor that the Empire simply didn't realize was a danger? The movie's explanation made a little more sense. Also, last 10 minutes of the movie with Vader = epic.

 **Rogue Squadron Roster**

 **Leader/One** \- Wedge Antilles (m)  
 **Two** \- Will Scotian (m)  
 **Three** \- Kirst (f)  
 **Four** \- Derek Hobbie Klivian (m)  
 **Five** \- Wes Janson (m)  
 **Six** \- Riv Shiel (m) Shistavanen  
 **Seven** \- Keir Santage (KIA)  
 **Eight** \- Zev (KIA)  
 **Nine** \- Tycho Celchu (m)  
 **Ten** \- Tarrin Datch (m) - _unknown status - KIA for sake of story  
_ **Eleven** \- Plourr Ilo (f)  
 **Twelve** \- Standro Jcir (m) Rodian


	5. Chapter Four

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** There seems to have been a lot of anticipation for the Alliance's reaction to Luke's heritage. I'm not exactly sure what's expected but I hope that I won't disappoint as that subplot will be (more or less) concluded in this chapter. While the reactions of High Command don't necessarily align with the rest of the Alliance, internal intrigue is fairly minimal in my current (but by no means finalized) outline. So far the primary conflicts of the story involve external characters not yet seen—no more spoilers on that front, but it's likely that you won't see evidence of antagonists for several more chapters. Have no fear, Thrawn will be making an appearance but not for a little while longer.

A lot of this chapter will consist of the 'meat' of Alliance High Command's reaction. The grueling, explanatory dialog sequences will be coming to end soon ( _soon_ , but not yet) and things _will_ move forward during the latter half of this chapter. I'm going to try to release another chapter of WotE within the next week or two before I go back to Thor's Slayers. If I'm not acknowledging your reviews, be assured that I do look over _every_ review I receive because, whether they're critical or complimentary, they all help to make me a better writer and thus write better stories.

* * *

 **###**

 _"_ _That's treason. I like it."  
_ _—_ _Booster Terrik_

 **#**

"General Solo?" The startled exclamation came from Chief of State Mon Mothma, whose startled movement caused her flowing, white gown to sway as she swiveled to face the unexpected visitors.

General Han Solo, General Lando Calrissian, and R2-D2, onetime battle droid commander and Astromech droid extraordinaire, made their way into Admiral Ackbar's stateroom on their self-appointed mission to save Luke Skywalker. What they were saving him _from_ wasn't entirely clear but both Han and Lando had agreed that the kid would definitely need saving at some point and if they were entertained by the unfolding spectacle in the meantime, well, that was purely incidental.

Unlike his two companions, Han walked straight toward the center of the room until he stood at Leia's unoccupied side, facing the rest of High Command. Lando removed his steel blue cape and draped it over a white repulsor chair that mirrored Luke's. Taking a seat at the side of the room, he made himself comfortable and readied himself for what was sure to be the _most_ fascinating Alliance High Command meeting in the history of the Rebellion. Those who knew the dark-skinned Socorran well, however, could see that his debonair attitude was belied by the tense set of his shoulders and the strain in his smile. Nodding at Luke, Lando gave the young Jedi a quick two-fingered salute in acknowledgment and support.

Artoo rolled over to his master, greeting Luke with worried, warbling beeps as he stationed himself protectively by Luke's repulsor chair. Giving his faithful droid a faint smile, Luke rested a hand against the astromech's silver dome in both greeting and reassurance. _Truer friends, a man could never have,_ Luke thought, closing his eyes and allowing himself to bask in their friendship. It was only after everyone had settled into a tense silence that Luke opened his eyes to face High Command once again.

"Those of you present when the Bakuran messenger drone arrived," Luke began slowly, nodding at Ackbar, Madine, and Mothma, "likely remember my statement that some Jedi are able to...manifest themselves after their deaths through the Force. There have been times when I've seen or heard from the spirits, for lack of a more accurate word, of Obi-Wan and Master Yoda."

"Really _?"_ General Cracken inquired blandly.

It truly was impressive how much incredulity the man could express with a single word and how that simple word seemed to sound more like 'psych evaluation recommended', Luke mused then shook his head, clearing it of untimely fanciful thoughts.

"Yes, General. Commander Skywalker revealed this...aspect of his abilities as a Jedi prior to his mission to Bakura," Admiral Ackbar agreed, nodding as he took a deep, gurgling breath. "The commander informed us that, though General Kenobi wasn't able to specify the reason why, he considered it important that Commander Skywalker be a part of the task force."

General Madine raised a hand to stroke his beard as he tilted his head toward Cracken. "General Kenobi's spirit was proven correct in that instance," the former Imperial commander conceded, "and I am therefore willing to listen to what Skywalker has to say."

Both Airen Cracken and Carlist Rieeken gave Luke long stares that were part confusion, part fear, but mostly incredulity. Leia's _l_ _ook_ and tapping foot seemed to bring Rieekan in line and the older Alderaanian sighed and waved a hand for Luke to continue his tale. However, Cracken, without the years of experiencing the wrath of a truly irate Princess Organa that Rieekan possessed, remained firm in his skepticism.

"Really?" Cracken asked yet again and his flat tone indicated that he'd added Madine and Ackbar to his mental list of individuals requiring psych evals.

"Through the Force, all things are possible," Luke affirmed solemnly.

Leia, Han, and Lando all groaned in disgust.

"Kriff, Luke, can't you break out some moisture farming wisdom or something else to spice things up a little?" Han grated out.

"Sorry, Han, but 'sand gets everywhere' and 'water is life' doesn't quite fit the bill," Luke all but growled at the ex-smuggler. "Although there _is_ one about dealing with the Hutts that you might've found useful a few years ago."

Lando, still off to the side of the room, snickered at the comment.

Ignoring the byplay, Cracken blew out a long breath. "Alright, Commander, I'll accept, for now, that you see the...spirits of dead Jedi," Cracken uttered quietly, though the Chief of Intelligence looked like he'd rather chew glass rather than actually do so. "Let me try again from a different angle, _when_ did you first learn that you were Vader's son?"

Luke stiffened and closed his eyes as memories of Cloud City resurfaced, instantly recalling his duel with the dark specter that had been his father and the flash of searing heat that had been his sire's lightsaber removing his hand. The pain of the physical injury, however, had been eclipsed by the pain he'd felt mere moments later when his father had revealed the terrible truth that had changed _everything_. "A minute or so after he cut off my hand, General," he finally breathed out.

Hearing Madine's soft curse, Luke flicked his eyes to the Corellian general, who was staring at Luke's gloved hand, shaking his head in disbelief while continuing to mutter angrily. Sensing that the man's anger had nothing to do with him, Luke let it go and maintained his attention on the more skeptical members of the audience.

"I'm sure you weren't willing to simply take his words at face value, Luke, how could you even be sure he told you the truth?" General Rieekan asked softly.

Luke regarded the older Alderaanian for a moment while he considered the question, idly drawing small circles on Artoo's dome as he did so. Carlist Rieekan was a good man, a man Luke admired greatly but he was also a man whose paranoid streak could surpass even that of Madine or Cracken's. However, it wasn't paranoia that prompted the general's question and Luke, therefore, endeavored to answer it as clearly as possible despite the fact that the answer in itself largely relied on one's knowledge and trust in the Force. It was on the heels of that thought that Luke was given yet another reminder of just how complicated his life had become in a few short years.

Giving the general an apologetic look and a half-shrug, Luke replied, "I didn't, General, not at first but that refusal to hear the truth was the product of my own pain and fear. It was only after I reached out to the Force that I felt the truth of his words resonate through me. He offered me the opportunity to join him, to kill the Emperor, and take over the galaxy at his side. I threw myself off the platform instead."

The room had gone silent and still during Luke's recollections, a stillness that was broken only when the young Jedi took his gloved hand from Artoo's dome and placed it in his lap. Noting idly how well the black synthleather meshed with the rest of his Jedi uniform, Luke quietly continued his story. "I _felt_ that he hadn't lied to me, General, but it wasn't until shortly after rescuing Han from Jabba that I was able to confirm it. Both Master Yoda and the spirit of Obi-Wan Kenobi admitted that Darth Vader, who'd once been Anakin Skywalker, was my father."

"You've kept this knowledge to yourself for the better part of a year?" Mothma asked softly, eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pity.

Luke steepled his fingers as he considered the older woman and the sad, faraway expression in her eyes. From what he'd felt from the ex-senator, Admiral Piett's revelation hadn't actually been all that shocking to the Chandrilan. There had been surprise, yes, but her response had been by far the most muted of the group, excluding only Leia and himself. "Yes, I did," he affirmed and caught the woman's eyes, "but I suppose having to keep that secret for _years_ would've been even harder, wouldn't it?"

Mon Mothma's eyes widened for a moment before the woman nodded, both at him and then at the others who looked at her incredulously. "Perhaps it was more arduous in doing so, Commander, but it wasn't _my_ heritage that was one of the most closely guarded secrets in the galaxy. Viceroy Organa knew of your existence, your heritage, and of the protection afforded by Master Kenobi in his exile."

Glancing at Leia, The Chief of State's tone softened as she spoke directly to her protege. "He disclosed this information to me shortly after you were elected to take his position within the Imperial Senate. The Alliance was growing in strength and though he'd taken great pains to maintain the appearance of loyalty to Emperor Palpatine, Bail felt certain that he would be among the first to face the Empire's retribution when the conflict inevitably escalated into open war."

Mothma directed her gaze back to Luke, though her eyes seemed distant as she recalled the pivotal moment of her past. "Viceroy Organa told me of your father and what little he knew about Anakin's transformation into Darth Vader. He felt certain that a plan had been put into motion by General Kenobi and several other surviving Jedi, a plan that would see you walk the path of the Jedi and aid in our struggle against the tyranny of Palpatine's Empire. Bail told me that one day you, Luke Skywalker, would make yourself known to the Rebellion and that day would mark the beginning of the return of the Jedi."

Luke stared at her, feeling the depth of that belief, the weight of that promise made by a man four years dead, settle upon his shoulders like a mantle. He tried and utterly failed to imagine the conflicting emotions Mon must've felt when she'd heard his name in connection to Leia's rescue from the first Death Star, the death of Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the subsequent destruction of that same Death Star. Vindication for her faith in the Jedi, crushing sorrow at the loss of her friend, colleague, and mentor, disappointment as yet another Jedi was felled by Darth Vader's crimson lightsaber... Luke shook his head, once again reminded of why he admired the woman and her ability to remain composed.

The others in the room had fallen equally quiet, either in respect to the memory and words of Viceroy Bail Prestor Organa or simply stunned at how long ago Luke's destiny had been steered onto its current course.

Leia clasped a hand over her mouth, feeling her eyes burn with unshed tears and the near physical pain that often resounded through her whenever memories of her adoptive father were brought up. Those words, spoken through Mon's lips, had sounded so much like her father's and now more than ever, she wished he were still alive.

"How did my father know?" Leia asked in a small voice.

"He was there at Luke's birth," Mon added, nodding toward Luke.

Luke jerked his head up at the admission. "My mother, did he tell you who—"

But the red-haired Chandrilan was already shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Commander, he never shared that piece of information with me. All I have are my own suspicions, nothing more."

"Who do—" Luke cut himself off with a grimace. His mother's identity was immutable and could remain unknown for a little while longer; the presence of an Imperial fleet and Admiral Piett's announcement, on the other hand, needed to be dealt with _now_. Luke released his agitation into the Force, imagining Master Yoda's grunt of approval as he did so. "A discussion for another time," Luke sighed, suddenly feeling as weary as he ever had before. "Gentlebeings, I never cooperated with Darth Vader at any time and in any way," Luke declared firmly then faltered.

"Luke?" Leia asked after the silence was prolonged by his hesitation.

"I—I _did_ see the spirit of my father during the celebration on Endor after the Death Star's destruction. Alongside Master Yoda and Obi-Wan, he appeared as a man, as Anakin Skywalker _not_ as Darth Vader, and spoke to me very briefly."

"And just what did your old man have to say for himself?" Han asked, thin-lipped and staring at Luke with narrowed eyes.

Luke winced. That was a translation for: 'why the hell didn't you ever tell us he _spoke_ to you?'.

Wiping her eyes, Leia swung her head toward him with a similarly irritated expression that required no use of the Force to foresee suffering in his future for his omission.

Before his sister had a chance to speak, Luke held up both of his hands in surrender, "he didn't say much and it was out of context so I didn't... He told me that I could trust Piett and that I should remember what they say about great power. That's it."

Lando's brows furrowed. "With great power comes great responsibility?"

Han nodded. "Power corrupts?"

"Where there is power, there is resistance," Leia murmured with solemn wisdom.

"A friend in power is a friend lost," Han added, glancing at Lando with raised eyebrows.

"Recognizing power in another does not diminish your own," the Socorran countered, smoothing out his mustachios.

"The measure of a man is what he does with power," Rieekan recited, the faintest of smiles on his face.

"Yes, okay, we get it," Luke snapped and took a deep breath. "At the time there was no context and I didn't have a clue who or what 'Piett' was."

Lando waved a casual hand at the frozen image of the Imperial officer's projected image. "I'm guessing that's who."

"Thank you for your truly impressive insight, General Calrissian," Madine grated, giving the Baron Administrator of Cloud City an icy look.

"Generals," Mothma chided.

Both Madine and Lando shot her apologetic glances.

"Well, Dad told you to trust Piett and Admiral Piett says you're the Emperor," the dark-skinned man continued, ignoring the scowls sent his way. "Seems simple enough...Your Majesty."

Luke felt a chill run down his spine at Lando's words. Being called that...being called "Your Majesty" by a friend, even in jest, was a glaring reminder of what Piett was offering him. The prospect of ruling the Empire—it didn't even really compute. Why would _anyone_ want to rule something like that? The Empire had been built upon a foundation of fear, it had ruled through fear, how was he supposed to immerse himself in such an environment? How _could_ he and remain a Jedi, to teach others as Yoda had instructed? "Don't call me that, Lando," he asked quietly.

Seeing Luke's expression, Lando's face fell and he nodded. "Sorry, Luke, I just—"

"I know," Luke murmured. Feeling trapped in his seat, he stood up and strode to the viewport, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out into the blackness of space. Hearing a loud exhalation, Luke turned slightly, cocking an eyebrow at General Cracken's expression.

Cracken rubbed a hand over his tired face. "Suddenly, this whole war feels more like a family drama that played itself out through interstellar conflict. _Kriff_ , Skywalker, you're Vader's _son_." The Supreme Allied Commander for Intelligence huffed out a weak laugh that bore no humor. "The Empire always hunted Jedi with a special ruthlessness reserved entirely for them. Just the barest whisper of their presence would usually lead to a stormtrooper detachment searching the area or worse, one of the Emperor's inquisitors or other Jedi hunters. But you, Commander Skywalker, Darth Vader went after you with a maddened obsession that not even his pursuit of the Alliance had managed to incite. We were never quite sure why."

Madine nodded, idly tugging at the tan jacket of his uniform. "General Cracken is right about Vader's pursuit of you. Several of his better strategic plans were undermined by his own sudden and not always entirely logical tactical maneuvers all aimed at capturing you."

Han perked up at that. "After Hoth, his old man took Death Squadron into an _asteroid_ _field_ just trying to capture Her Highnessness and I. It wasn't until later on Bespin that we learned the entire purpose of capturing _us_ was just to lure Luke to him. Pretty sure that asteroid field did more damage to the Empire that day than we did."

Lando shifted uneasily in his seat, as he always did when Bespin came up in conversation but settled when Han gave him a half-shrug.

"So what do we do about the message?" Luke asked and immediately felt a nudge in the Force. He sensed Leia clumsily reaching into the Force, focused on sending him not a message, but an image conjured from the depths of her depraved imagination. Luke saw a revoltingly earnest image of himself sitting on a massive throne within a darkened chamber, wearing bright, oversized, gaudy clothing and an enormous, lopsided crown while surrounded by thousands of bowing supplicants and grim, silent guards.

His scowl was met by her amused brown eyes, but Luke took the meaning behind her joke. If he wasn't murdered in the next couple of weeks then he might very well have to learn how to act like an Emperor. He might no longer be the clueless, naive farm boy that he'd been after blasting off of Tatooine but he was a far cry from being a senator like Leia let alone a head of state like Mon Mothma. His stomach lurched again, just as it had been doing since he heard Piett's message. _How does Father even expect me to deal with this? There are literally thousands of Imperial soldiers, politicians, and bureaucrats like that Nereus sleemo_ _who would love nothing better than to put a blaster to my head. I can't do this on my own, Father._

"I think that it's about time we meet with this Admiral Piett and see what we're in for," Rieekan answered in the ensuing silence. "Otherwise we'll be thinking in circles pretty damn quick."

"'We'?" Han echoed.

"I believe it would be unreasonable to expect those of us who hadn't already known of Commander Skywalker's heritage to take the news with total equanimity, General Solo, but we aren't such utter bastards that we'll throw Commander Skywalker to the proverbial neks either," Rieekan declared, folding his arms and glowering at the ex-smuggler.

A gentle, amused, cough from a faintly smiling Mon Mothma that made Carlist redden slightly. "If you'll pardon my language, Chief of State."

"I quite understand, Carlist, and he is right, Commander Skywalker. While _our_ role in this rather shocking development has yet to be determined, your heritage will not undermine our faith in you," Mon Mothma affirmed. "Generals Cracken, Madine, please choose a neutral location that can be used to host such a conference and contact the _Chimaera_ when a decision has been made."

"Yes, ma'am," Airen Cracken and Crix Madine acknowledged in unison.

Luke stilled, taken aback at the sudden acceptance and flurry of orders. Perhaps he wasn't quite as alone as he'd previously thought but that didn't make him any more interested in becoming the kriffing Emperor. He cleared his throat to get her, and everyone else's, attention. "Chief of State, the decision should ultimately lay with me, shouldn't it? Doing this...trying to prop me up as the _Emperor_ goes against everything the Alliance stands for, even if it were for the best of intentions! I swore to my master that I would pass on what I've learned, to remake the Jedi Order, and I don't see how that's possible from a throne."

Mothma nodded and gave him an apologetic smile, her eyes full of empathy. "Of course it's your decision, I apologize if my actions made it seem otherwise. Commander Skywalker...Luke, if you believe that this man can be trusted because of your father's say-so then you _must_ prepare for the _possibility_ that you'll be returning to Coruscant with Admiral Piett. _If_ such an eventuality comes to pass then I'm afraid your life is about to become very difficult. For that, you have my deepest sympathy."

Mon's voice lowered then, sounding more like a whisper that was laden with meaning. "But, Luke, you are now in the unique position of being an Alliance officer who's been offered the reins of the very government that you've fought against for the last four years. There are opportunities, that you and you alone might take advantage of to prevent years of future conflict and that might save countless lives."

Luke gave her a flat look. "That wasn't kind, Chief of State Mothma."

Mon glided toward him, shaking her head. "No, it wasn't. However, one does not become the leader of a galactic rebellion by being entirely kind. It's unfair to place this responsibility upon you, Luke, but that doesn't alter the fact that this development may offer a pathway to peace and restoration of liberty that we'd never have thought possible. So I must ask you for a great favor, Luke, please keep an open mind. If your father turned from the dark side, if he came back to you and urged you to trust Admiral Piett, then please considering doing so if only to spare lives that might otherwise be needlessly spent," she pleaded. Mothma gazed into his face for some time before gently patting his arm. "Whether you are a moisture farmer, a Jedi, a pilot, or an Emperor, you'll do your best because that's the sort of man you've become. Your heritage has no bearing on who you are, Luke, and I know you to be a _good_ person."

Leia stiffened as Mon's eyes flicked to hers and clenched her fists until Han, having noticed the subtle exchange, brushed her arm with his own. The discomfort provoked by the Chief of State's obvious knowledge of the heritage she shared with Luke dimmed and she let herself relax, giving Mon a tiny nod of acknowledgment. Leia patted Han's chest in quiet thanks, allowing her hand to fall back until she held his hand in hers.

"Luke, as to your concern about creating a new Jedi Order, I know little about the way of the Jedi but this turn of events have reminded me of a history lesson from one of my tutors. I'd recommend that you search for information on Lord Hoth and his role during the Jedi-Sith War preceding the Ruusan Reformation. It might provide some guidance on how you might frame your status as a Jedi with the other demands placed upon you, were you to assume the throne," Mon offered, hoping to grant Luke some measure of reassurance. "I know very little about the subject, just know enough to assure you that you would not be the first Jedi to have ruled over a people."

Feeling lost, Luke just nodded.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Chief of State Mothma, you seem to be, well, unnaturally accepting of the situation. Of Luke possibly becoming the Emperor, I mean," Lando observed curiously, then added hastily, "not that I'm complaining, of course."

Mon glanced at the Lando and tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Make no mistake, I do not want an Empire to rule this galaxy, General Calrissian, that is not within my character. I am a firm believer in democracy and in the Republic but I am not, nor have I ever been, blind to its faults. What I found most detestable about the Empire was the Emperor himself; he and his cohorts brought about the Empire through deceit and manipulation in an effort to slake their never-ending lust for power. They ruled the Empire through fear and hatred without any genuine care for the people they claimed dominion over." Mon shook her head. "Yet despite all of that, the concept of the Empire isn't entirely without merit and much of my own person animosity died when Emperor Palpatine was destroyed."

She sighed and gave Luke a thoughtful look. "Our long struggle with the Empire and the brutality we've seen from the regime makes it easy to forget that empires and kingdoms aren't evil as a rule; there have been kingdoms and empires that rule benevolently both in the past and now."

"The Hapans," Han muttered.

"Yes, among others," Mon nodded in approval. "I do not _want_ you, Luke, to become Emperor but I would be a poor diplomat if I ignored an alternative avenue to peace hitherto thought impossible. And that is exactly what you now represent. Becoming the Alliance of Free Planets hasn't changed our goal of restoring the Republic but I refuse to believe that the coexistence of governments and ideologies is so impossible that peace requires the outright destruction of either the Empire or of the Alliance."

"There's also the presence of the Imperial fleet in this system to consider. If we fail to be at least remotely hospitable to their stated goal, then we risk a fight when one could be avoided," Rieekan admitted. "If meeting Admiral Piett can avoid the necessity of battle then I can't find a better reason for us to go along with it, for now at least. It'll be days yet until any reinforcements arrive and if all they want to do is talk..."

Luke said nothing and instead stared out the viewport, placing his hand on Artoo's dome when the astromech rolled over to rejoin his master.

After a moment of silence, Mon Mothma took the hint. "Carlist, perhaps you and I should venture to one of the other ships, the _Defiance_ perhaps, and discuss the ramifications of the situation. I'm sure Princess Organa will be more than capable of assisting Commander Skywalker in planning any negotiations and I believe it wise to separate onto different ships as a precaution to possible battle," the Chandrilan ex-senator suggested quietly.

Rieekan nodded, following Mothma to the entrance of the stateroom, pausing only when he reached Leia. Ignoring Han's protective stance, the older man brushed a hand against her cheek. "Bail would be so proud of you, Lelila, I hope you know that." Then he left the room without waiting for a response.

Ackbar, Madine, and Cracken all followed shortly, the latter two quietly consulting datapads and frequently shaking their heads in response to a suggestion or question by the other. With their departure, only R2-D2, Leia, Han, Lando, and Luke remained in Admiral Ackbar's stateroom.

"Wow," Lando murmured. "That could've—"

"—gone a lot worse," Han agreed.

#

Leia felt the oppressive weight of her brother's barely controlled emotions pressing down upon her and she took the time to carefully examine her brother. Hand pressed flat against the viewport and head lowered, her brother looked like the galaxy was falling down around him. Not knowing what to say, Leia left Han's side to put her arms around her brother from behind, offering him a fierce embrace. She hoped he knew that it was her way of saying that, whether he was the Emperor, a hermit, or even the Queen Mother of Hapes herself, to her he'd always be the short farm boy who'd walked into her detention cell disguised as a stormtrooper who'd proudly declared, 'I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you!'

She glanced back at Han, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck for a second. Han, in turn, shot a helpless glance at Lando. The dark-skinned Sorrocan shrugged, offering a half smile but unable to offer any of his own words of wisdom.

 _That's probably for the best_ , Leia thought, tightening her hold around Luke. Too many "wise words" of Lando Calrissian generally lead any sane person to drink.

"It'll be okay, Luke," Han finally ventured. "And if it's not, I'll grab Chewie from Kashyyyk and we'll tear some arms out. Let's try to avoid that though, this is his first extended visit with Malla in a long time and I figure I'm just as likely to lose _my_ arm if I go to pick him up too soon."

Artoo beeped a few notes of his own in reassurance.

"Could be worse," Lando offered. "At least you're not the Emperor's son."

Luke, still imprisoned in Leia's warm embrace, stiffened and gave the man a disgusted look. "Gross."

"Or," Han chimed in, "it could've been that Yoda of yours who watched over you as you grew up. Bet Tatooine doesn't sound so bad now when you compare it to a planet-sized swamp."

Luke visibly shuddered and, to Leia's amusement, so did Artoo. Evidently, the astromech recalled Dagobah's wildlife all too well and wanted nothing to do with the planet.

"See?" Lando coaxed, "things are looking better already. Come on, Luke, let's go make some galactic peace and you can start the liberation process with the liquor that Piett will undoubtedly have locked up on that fancy Star Destroyer of his."

This time it was Leia's turn to make a disgusted face, adding an "ugh" sound to go with it.

Han chuckled. "Well, Kid, this should be a combination of terrifying, interesting, and amusing. Hopefully, this won't be as much trouble as the time I picked up that crazy old man with his moisture farming, hick tagalong but I'm not willing to lay odds on it. Either way, we're here for you."

"Nerfherder," Leia muttered but she smiled into Luke's back as she said it and felt her own brother's mood lift just a little. Their little dysfunctional family had been there for each other through thick and thin and that wasn't going to stop anytime soon; the sooner her brother remembered that, the better.

* * *

 **Three days later  
Salis D'aar, Bakura  
** **Bakura system, Bakura sector**

Firmus Piett forced himself to remain calm as Colonel Fel gently guided the shuttle into Bakura's lower atmosphere, keeping the shuttle on course to their destination with the flawless precision one might expect of any pilot belonging to the 181st. It wouldn't be long until they arrived in Salis D'aar, the capital of Bakura, to meet with Skywalker and the Alliance. Besides himself, only Baron Soontir Fel, five of Pellaeon's most loyal stormtroopers, and three of the brown-robed, silent Noghri had accompanied him. Though he refused to show his discomfort, the combination of the cramped confines of the shuttle and the overwhelming gravity of the situation was wearing his patience thin.

The agreement negotiated between Captain Pellaeon and Admiral Ackbar had stipulated that there were to be no cruisers; only a single shuttle with no more than ten occupants. Because none of the fighters aboard the _Chimaera_ were equipped with hyperdrives, escorts had also been nixed; an idea that had appealed to precisely no one. As for Pellaeon himself, Firmus had ordered the older man to remain aboard the _Chimaera_ as flag captain, where he'd be in a position to prevent any of the other ships from doing something unwise should their temporary truce with the Alliance begin to fray. Unfortunately, this left Piett the problem of finding at least one other senior ranking officer to accompany him to Bakura. It was a problem, however, that was quickly and unexpectedly resolved.

Fel's volunteering for the mission had been something of a surprise, a welcome one that was brought about when the Corellian had approached him to volunteer for the mission. Though suspicious of any man's motives for volunteering to join _this_ mission, the Noghri had found no evidence of Fel harboring any personal animosity to either Skywalker or the Alliance and Fel's well-known reputation for being open-minded was enough for Piett to accept the Baron's offer. In truth, his decision had more to do with the man's political standing and leanings than it did Fel's rank within the Navy or the respect he'd garnered as leader of the 181st. Still, Piett had to admit that a better pilot in the Empire couldn't be found and the man's skill in a TIE had translated smoothly into flying the _Lambda_ -class shuttle, ensuring that their journey had been a smooth one.

The logistics of arranging the meeting had been hampered more by deciding the location of the meeting than choosing who the participants would be and how they'd be arriving. Meeting on either an Imperial or an Alliance cruiser had seemed like a catastrophe waiting to happen and the suggestion to meet on the system's Imperial mining colony or on the Alliance-controlled forest moon of Endor had been summarily dismissed. It had been the former Imperial officer, Crix Madine, who'd suggested Bakura. Naturally, _any_ suggestion was being met with suspicion but the suggestion hadn't been unreasonable. It was an Imperial planet, yes, but one only recently occupied; not _exactly_ neutral, but neutral enough to satisfy both the Rebellion's leadership and himself.

Before agreeing to the decision, he'd contacted Bakura's governor as a courtesy. Instead of Governor Nereus, he'd been confronted by the picture of Prime Minister Captison whose blank features had revealed that Nereus was dead and had refused to elaborate on the circumstances. The Prime Minister had been courteous and had informed Piett that he was most welcome to make use of the planet's hospitality to conduct diplomatic negotiations but the death of the system's governor was disturbing. His next holocomm call was to Commander Thanas, the leader of the Imperial garrison's forces on the planet, who'd answered bleary-eyed and in his sleep clothes.

Despite his state of undress, the commander had acted as professional as one might expect and had confirmed the _Dominant_ 's status as the flagship of the system's naval defense forces. When Piett had pressed for further information on Nereus, the commander had become visibly uncomfortable and eventually revealed that Nereus was discovered to have been conducting under the table dealings. The blaster bolt that had killed Nereus had been fired by Nereus himself when he'd been confronted for his actions. Digesting the information, Piett finally informed the commander to expect the arrival of both an Imperial and an Alliance delegation and that he was to patrol the outer edges of the system and in _no way_ interfere. With the mystery solved, Piett and given Pellaeon his approval for the location and the captain had worked the rest of the details out with his counterpart in the Alliance.

The problem was that it appeared the matter _hadn't_ been settled and upon their entry into the system, both he and Fel had noted the signs of recent battle, both in the debris littering the system and on the planet itself. Neither man had said anything but Firmus felt sure that the Baron shared his suspicions that the Rebels had somehow pulled a fast one. The suspicion became a near certainty when the Imperial defense force showed itself to be a mere fraction of its proper strength and _also_ bore signs of battle damage.

Though the lack of Imperial activity was disquieting and would doubtlessly require a formal inquiry of Commander Thanas, it was mildly reassuring that there wasn't any Rebel activity in its stead. What was most disconcerting was the _stillness_ of the planet. There was less traffic in and out of the system than there should've been, less orbital activity of any kind, and less activity on the planet surface. If there was a battle between the Alliance and the Empire and the Alliance had been victorious, why was the _Dominant_ still on picket duty? And the Rebels rarely engaged in any kind of orbital bombardment, let alone one that left the scars he'd seen on the planet from orbit.

Firmus sighed, he'd get his answers soon enough. It wouldn't be long now until he was planetside and could get answers about what happened from Prime Minister Captison, not long until he was in the presence of Luke Skywalker and found out if his loyalty to Lord Vader would pay off. Piett closed his eyes and willed himself to relax as Fel continued to ease the Lambda on its graceful, downward trajectory.

* * *

 **Six hours earlier**

Luke fought the blush on his face as soft lips pressed against his cheek. The wave of amusement he felt from _all_ of his companions did exactly nothing to ease that struggle. "Luke," Gaeriel Captison murmured softly. "Even though I hadn't expected to see you again so soon, I _am_ happy to see you."

"Likewise, Gaeri," Luke replied softly, stepping back to take in her appearance. Her brown hair was tied in a simple braid that looped around her head to lay over her chest. Wearing a loose white jacket over a navy-blue tunic, white pants adorned with navy-blue stripes, and black, synthleather boots that ran up the length of her calf, she looked—

"You look...great," he managed, desperately trying not to ogle the stunning woman in front of him.

He lost the fight against the blush when he felt another wave of amusement from the peanut gallery, the _jerks_.

Gaeri smiled warmly before gripping his shoulders and giving him a little shake. "And you look tired," the brown-haired woman eventually replied, raising an imperious, disapproving eyebrow. "Haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

Han's laugh of amusement was cut short by Leia's elbow. Alas, there was no likewise retribution when Wedge and Tycho snorted in unison. Luke felt his face grow even warmer when Gaeri gave him a scolding look and 'tsked' before smoothing out the creases in his tunic.

"Four years with the kid and I'm still waiting for him to take care of himself," Han grumbled.

Leia stepped on Han's foot none too lightly but her mouth quirked as she met Gaeriel's gaze. Striding over to the Bakuran, she extended a hand. "Unfortunately, Commander Skywalker's current state of exhaustion is not without reason. Senator Captison, it _is_ nice to see you again."

Gaeriel took Leia's hand, shaking it gently while giving the Princess a warm smile. "Likewise, Your Highness. I admit that it's gratifying to see that the _Millennium Falcon_ is as fast as General Solo likes to claim; you'll be pleased to know that the Empire's delegation isn't expected to arrive in-system for at least another five hours. I _am_ assuming that you are the 'envoy' that Admiral Piett was expecting to meet here, Your Highness?"

Leia shook her head, giving the woman a wry smile. "It's slightly more complicated than that and it isn't something to be discussed here in the spaceport. If you don't mind my asking, did the admiral express any awareness that Bakura had declared itself independent from the Empire?"

"No, and I'm afraid that neither I, nor Pter, nor my Uncle Yeorg remembered to mention it in our discussions with the man," the Bakuran said, eyes wide with fake innocence.

Luke laughed softly. "Thank you for that, though I doubt the gratitude will be returned by the admiral upon his arrival." He adjusted his stance so that he stood beside her and Leia, facing the _Falcon_ and the rest of their party. "Gaeriel, I believe you met Commander Antilles and Captain Celchu as well...?"

"Yes, of course," she replied to Luke, offering a smile to the two X-Wing pilots. "Gentlemen, we're always happy to have Rogue Squadron on Bakura, in fact, your exploits have become so well-known that you've gained something of a cult following on our fair planet in the short time since you departed."

Wedge smiled back and gave her a respectful bow of his head. "Unfortunately, Tycho and I are mostly here as moral support rather than to fly our X-Wings but hopefully we'll have time to regale our legions of fans with our vast repertoire of tales while we're here."

Gaeriel frowned slightly and turned to Leia with a raised eyebrow. "Moral support?"

"I'd rather not discuss it openly here," Luke said quietly, catching Gaeriel's attention, "but yes, they're here as moral support and as people I trust with my life."

Luke gestured at the others who'd followed him out of the _Falcon_. Unlike Wedge and Tycho's formal green uniforms or Lando's tan and blue uniform, the remaining members of the party were wearing Alliance combat fatigues, complete with slung blaster rifles and blast helmets.

Indicating each member with a finger, Luke began the introductions. "The other members of our party are General Lando Calrissian, Lieutenant Judder Page, Corporal Dansra Beezer, Corporal Kensaric, and Corporal Delevar."

"Gentlemen," the Bakuran senator nodded, then offering a small smile to Corporal Beezer added, "and lady. Welcome to Bakura. Now, if you'll follow me..." She indicated for the Alliance personnel to follow her with a wave of her hand and led them to a nearby pad where two speeders waited to ferry them away. Wedge, Tycho, and the Alliance SpecForce personnel took one speeder while Han, Leia, Lando, and Luke took the other.

Electing to sit in the latter, Gaeriel sat facing the others with a more sober expression. Casting a sharp look upon Luke and Leia, the diminutive brunette folded her hands on her lap and leaned forward. "The speeder's already been swept for surveillance if that's a concern but I would very much like to know, Luke, Your Highness, why I _shouldn't_ be worried about an Imperial delegation arriving on my homeworld after we so recently regained our independence."

#

"Sound-dampening field is top notch," Kensaric murmured, tapping the side of speeder. "Kuati work."

Page nodded and placed a small device against the roof of their cabin, watching it flash blue at a steady interval.

"Bakura looks nice," Dansra commented lamely, looking out the darkly tinted window of the speeder.

Tycho nodded slowly, eyes distant. "Reminds me of Alderaan."

Knowing better than to offer sympathy or pity, the team just nodded. and remained quiet until given the go-ahead.

The device that the lieutenant had placed suddenly flashed green three times prompting Page to place the device back into his pocket. "We're clear," the lieutenant confirmed.

"So!" Dansra exclaimed, loud and obnoxious enough to draw glares from the rest of the team. "What's the deal with the Bakuran senator and Luke?"

That drew chuckles all around and expectant faces turned to Wedge and Tycho.

Wedge held his hands up in surrender. "We didn't get the whole scoop, Dansra, we were a bit busy with the Fluties at the time and he was out getting his Jedi on, nearly getting assassinated multiple times, and trying to save the guy who was trying to convert him over to the Ssi-ruuk's ways."

"Sounds like the story of his life," Page commented, "he did more or less the same thing just a few days before that."

The comment provoked thoughtful frowns between the speeder's occupants.

Page shrugged. "I imagine that all of you had about the same reaction as I did when Luke briefed us. Seemed impossible that someone like Luke could've come from someone like Vader, but after a day of thinking about it, a lot of things started making sense."

"Bespin," Dansra commented softly.

Delevar nodded. "Don't think there was a soul in the Alliance who'd ever met Luke that didn't know something bad had happened there. Most chalked it up to losing his hand or the blow to his pride at losing a fight to Vader."

Wedge shook his head and let out a gusty sigh. "Luke was too quiet when he first came back from Bespin, looked like he might puke or keel over at any time but I don't think I ever saw him so much as glance at his arm until his prosthetic was attached. He recovered, physically at least, not long after that but he was still too damn quiet, too kriffing..."

"Grim," Dansra finished softly.

"Grim," Wedge agreed. "That starry-eyed hick we all know and love didn't even know his father was a Jedi until he first left Tatooine. It was one of the reasons he worked so hard to teach himself about the Force, because he wanted to be like his father," Wedge continued, idly plucking at the stiff, uncomfortable uniform Princess Organa had convinced him to wear.

"Yikes," Corporal Kensaric muttered. "Glad _that_ one didn't work out."

Delevar punched the man's shoulder.

"It's true!" Kensaric exclaimed defensively, rubbing at the resulting sore spot.

"It is true," Tycho admitted gravely, "and you shouldn't forget that Anakin Skywalker wasn't always Darth Vader. Luke believes, truly believes, that the dark side is something he'll always be confronted with in one form or another. That's why we're here, we keep him balanced, keep him sane."

"We keep him 'Luke'," Wedge nodded.

"We do that, yes, but we're also here to keep our Jedi from getting his face blown off by the Imps," Page reminded them pointedly.

"Right, that too," Tycho affirmed, glancing out of the speeder to look over the passing cityscape. "I admit that knowing how obsessed Vader was with Luke, not because he was a Jedi but because he was his _son_ , kriffed up my assumptions about Vader."

"What do you mean, Tycho?" Dansra asked.

"I remember those stories about Anakin Skywalker, the ones that veterans from the Clone Wars would share with Luke. How could the man from those stories, a Jedi Knight and hero of the Republic, become someone like _Vader_? Luke says that Vader 'turned to the dark side' and _that_ was what made him the evil bastard we all loathed. Yet, after being an evil bastard for two decades, Vader killed the Emperor to save his son, sacrificed himself and left the Empire for Luke to do with as he pleases," Tycho answered solemnly. "It adds a bit of depth to a creature that I'd once only believed to have been capable of evil."

A grim silence settled in the cabin as they glanced at one another with uneasy expressions.

"Well, I suppose that about covers why Luke's been so mopey," Dansra huffed. The brown-haired woman turned to Wedge and pointed a finger at the Corellian. "You, you're Rogue Leader, do something funny and indecorous."

Tycho choked out an amused laugh while Page just looked appalled at his subordinate.

Wedge glowered at the woman. "I am not your pet, _Corporal_."

Unrepentant, she continued to stare at him whilst tapping her foot expectantly.

Wedge closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest as he sighed in defeat. "Sorry, Beezer, on this, I got nothin'."

It was quiet in the speeder for a long moment as they stared at him.

Beside him, Tycho shrugged. "Too soon. Maybe Janson would have something but laughs will have to wait a day or two."

Reminded of the reasons for their being on Bakura, the atmosphere within the speeder sobered and they nodded their understanding.

"So how do we keep Skywalker alive?" Beezer asked.

"We keep out of the way of his glowing, green blade of death and take out anyone trying to take a cheap shot," Wedge replied, still in his relaxed position.

"Simple yet elegant," Dansra sniffed, "that'll do."

After a moment of silence, Kensaric cleared his throat. "So what are the current odds on Skywalker and the lovely Senator Captison becoming an item?" the SpecForce scout wondered with a sly smile..

"13/5," Wedge's eyes snapped open and locked onto the other man. "Solo's running the bet and swears that nothing ever happened between the two the last time we were here. "Want in?"

Tycho huffed out a derisive laugh and rolled his eyes. "Corellians."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I'm going to try to release another chapter of WotE within the next week or two before I go back to Thor's Slayers. R2-D2 did, in fact, lead a squad of reprogrammed battle droids during the Clone Wars for a very short time. He's kind of a badass, that Artoo, but everyone should've known that by now.

The individuals who accompanied Luke to Bakura whose names are likely to be less familiar to you were all members of the Endor strike team. Those individuals, along with Wedge and Tycho, were ones I figured he could trust to reveal his identity and the purpose of the mission. In Legends canon, Vader/Luke/Leia's relationship is discovered and while there's a big galactic reaction, pretty much all of the characters we know and love seemed perfectly okay with it. This is in contract with the current canon, where the reaction was so negative that Leia was forced out of galactic politics entirely.

There are two Captisons. Yeorg Captison is the Prime Minister of Bakura and the uncle of Gaeriel Captison, a Bakuran senator.

On the subject of midi-chlorians: I absolutely hated that the Prequel Trilogy took the idea of the mystical, spiritual force and found a way to scientifically quantify it in the form of "midi-chlorians." The idea that you could be handed a tray of blood samples and run them through a scanner and state definitely that, "Yes, this one could be a Jedi, and wow, he must be very powerful with that count!" or "Oh, no, unfortunately he's just one of us mundane normies" all without ever even seeing the subject in question just seems anathema to me. Before it felt like an intense journey of self-discovery that became a clinical process and formula for "how to find and create Jedi without really trying." /rant

On the subject of Force strength, I recently re-read Shadows of the Empire, the book that takes place immediately before RotJ. In the novel, Darth Vader is contemplating Luke's existence when he postulates that Luke was just as strong as Anakin, perhaps even stronger, in the Force. He goes on a dark side is stronger 'rawr' rant afterwards but he does establish that, as badass as Anakin was, Luke has the same/more potential.


	6. Chapter Five

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I wasn't entirely sure that I was satisfied by this chapter in terms of length vs. story development, but I thought the Noghri POVs were worth it. Next chapter will see a glimpse of Coruscant before returning to Bakura where significant developments will occur.  
Delay Notice: There's going to be a pretty significant delay (maybe a month or so) between this chapter and the next. This is mostly because I'm going to be pushing out one of the final chapters of Thor's Slayers but I'm also going to be drafting several of the next WotE chapters. Doing the latter helps me keep on point with a solid idea on where I'm headed with this plot.

Star Wars VIII trailer! I'm uber excited and cannot wait to see what they add to the universe, even if I prefer Legends canon. I just hope to god they don't make Luke unnecessarily wimpy (angsty is understandable but please let Luke be a badass)!

 **(Star Wars: Rebels spoiler alert):** So I finally watched the Star Wars: Rebels episode from last season that featured Obi-Wan and Darth Maul and wow. I gotta admit, I squealed like a little girl when a question posed by Maul is answered by Obi-Wan stating that "he" is the Chosen One, where "he" _likely_ refers to _Luke_ Skywalker based on purely on context. There's enough ambiguity in the exchange and the circumstances are unusual enough that simply taking Obi-Wan literally could be unwise. Adding in the fact that the Jedi Master is one who enjoys alternative points of view and the credibility of the statement becomes a tad more questionable. Nevertheless, it was an extremely interesting development, one that potentially redefines Luke's role in the new Star Wars canon. Mind = blown.

* * *

 **###**

 _"The stronger you become in the Force, the more that you can do, the more that's expected of you, and the less your life belongs to you."  
— Luke Skywalker_

 **#**

 _"Far too optimistic, you are," Yoda frowned. "Two hours, no more."_

 _"Bantha shit," Anakin snarled. "I think I know my own men better than you. One week."_

 _"Know the hearts of others, you can not, when know yourself, you do not," Yoda harrumphed._

 _"I'm continually astounded that you lived for 900 years when that's the kind of 'wisdom' you vomit forth," Anakin stated flatly._

 _"Then perhaps we might sweeten the pot, gentlemen?" Obi-Wan suggested slyly._

 _Anakin and Yoda both turned to the third presence with eyebrows raised in surprise._

 _Looking wary, Anakin examined his former master carefully. "Obi-Wan...I find that glint in your eye most disturbing."_

 _Yoda's ears twitched as he hummed thoughtfully. Coming to a decision, the tiny Jedi Master grunted and decisively tapped the Bakuran Senate floor with his ethereal gimer stick. "Approve of this idea, I do."_

 _"You want to_ bet _on when the first assassination attempt on my_ son _will take place?" Anakin gaped at them. "And I thought I was the only monster here."_

 _Yoda and Obi-Wan both turned to stare at the younger man placidly. When Anakin failed to respond, the older Jedi Masters each raised a single eyebrow and continued to stare. Patiently. Expectantly._

 _"Fine," Anakin sighed in resignation, shoulders slumping. "What are the stakes?"_

 _Obi-Wan smiled._

* * *

 **Twenty-four days after BoE  
Salis D'aar, Bakura  
Three hours after Alliance delegation arrival**

For the Imperial delegation's convenience, they'd were granted permission to land on top of the roof of the Bakur Memorial Building, home to both the Bakuran Senate and the central Imperial Offices. It was a convenience that Firmus appreciated but one offset by the physical appearance of their welcoming party. Flanked by a trio of lightly armored soldiers whose chest and shoulder plates were emblazoned by the Bakuran crest, a single officer stepped forward to offer a greeting.

"Admiral Piett, welcome to Bakura," the clean-shaven, brown-haired man offered in clipped tones.

Firmus Piett felt his jaw tighten at the sight of the four individuals. Making use of local security when greeting a newly arrived high-ranking officer was curious, possibly even inappropriate, but not entirely remarkable when stationed on a backwater planet like Bakura. What _was_ remarkable, and the source of his discomfort, was the uniform that single officer had chosen to wear.

Piett mentally swore. The Rebels had _definitely_ outsmarted him and it was far too late to back-out and reevaluate the situation. Unclenching his jaw, Piett counted to three before attempting to speak past his frustration.

"Commander Thanas, you look...different than I had expected," the admiral grated out, hiding his confusion and dismay behind an expression of bland politeness and disinterest. In spite of the uneasiness provoked by Thanas's surprising choice of uniform, Piett never faltered as he led the rest of the Imperial procession from the _Lambda_.

"Yes, I suppose I do," Commander Pter Thanas agreed solemnly, giving his Alliance uniform a nervous tug. "Unfortunately, Admiral, Bakura found itself in a rather nasty situation shortly before the Battle of Endor, one endured only because of the timely intercession of the Alliance following their—our victory over Endor." Thanas closed his eyes and let out a breath. "The events that transpired left me with little choice but to defect if I wished to retain any semblance of self-pride. It was not an easy thing, learning that my enemies had more honor and sense than the government I had once believed in."

Piett could hear the stormtroopers at his back shifting uneasily, though whether the nervousness stemmed from Thanas or the three armed men facing them, he couldn't be sure. Firmus couldn't fault them for their nervousness; to be confronted by the man who was supposed to be the Empire's senior military officer in the system wearing a _Rebel_ uniform was...disturbing.

"Commander," Piett started then paused, clasping his hands behind his back as he considered the man. This man _wasn't_ an Imperial officer anymore and he had to resist the urge to demand an explanation or order the man's immediate execution for committing treason. Adjusting his tone and softening his voice ever so slightly. "Commander," he tried again, "would you mind telling me the circumstances of Governor Nereus's death and why you found it necessary to abandon your duties? Perhaps with greater veracity along with a more complete explanation, this time?"

Thanas's face darkened. "Speaking broadly, Admiral, the stupidity and greed with which Nereus conducted his affairs is a fairly concise answer to each of your questions. If you want specifics on the manner of his death, I'd recommend asking Commander Skywalker. Now, if you'll follow me, Admiral, the Alliance delegation arrived several hours ago," the commander informed him, sweeping an arm toward the nearby lift in invitation. "They've been speaking with Prime Minister Captison and his niece, Senator Gaeriel Captison, while waiting for your arrival."

"Of course, Commander," Piett nodded, straightening his uniform jacket and signaling the Noghri and stormtroopers with a hand gesture. _Skywalker himself had some hand in the governor's death, then,_ Piett mused, _and yet Commander Thanas doesn't seem the least bit upset_. Determined not to think about how Nereus had earned the enmity of Thanas, the Bakurans, _and_ the Rebels, he searched for something else to say.

"It would seem they made good time in their journey here," Piett murmured.

Thanas huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Even though his ship looks scarcely flightworthy, General Solo's _Millennium Falcon_ is capable of traveling from one place to another far more rapidly than any ship I've ever been on."

 _General_ Solo _?_ Piett blinked at hearing the formal rank being ascribed to the smuggler but shelved his incredulity to mull over at another time. The latter half of the commander's comment about Solo's precious freighter drew a noncommittal noise from him. He'd seen the _Millennium Falcon_ in his nightmares for _weeks_ following Bespin; he knew all about its hidden capabilities and had no desire to be further reminded of them. "How long ago did they arrive, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Five or six hours, Admiral," Thanas admitted and cast a quick glance over his shoulder.

Following the direction of the commander's gaze, Piett realized Thanas was looking at the robed Noghri with naked curiosity, but the commander's attention quickly returned without making mention of the mysterious figures.

"Have you ever been to Bakura, Admiral Piett?" Thanas wondered curiously.

"No, Commander, it's a bit off the beaten path for me, I'm afraid," the Axxilan admiral answered. Gazing at the large, green vine-trees adorning the roof around the landing pad, he added, "it seems very lovely."

"Yes, yes it is on both counts. I admit that I despised being stationed here for quite some time," Pter Thanas murmured, "but I've grown to care for these people, this planet..." The man broke off, looking torn as he nervously tugged at his still unfamiliar Alliance uniform.

"Commander?" Piett prompted with a raised eyebrow.

Thanas let out a sigh. "I don't know why you're conducting negotiations with the Alliance here, Admiral, but I hope for everyone's sake that any agreement you make ends better than the last one made in this system."

"The last one?" Piett echoed, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He cast a quick glance to his right flank and received an equally confused shake of the head from Baron Fel.

Commander Thanas sighed and gave them an almost pitying look. He waved the turbolift entrance open, revealing a spacious lift that would easily accommodate their large party. "Come, Admiral, and I'll give you a rundown on recent events on Bakura as we make our way to the Great Hall. As I stated before, Commander Skywalker and Princess Organa understand the broader situation better than I, but I _can_ provide a firsthand account of Bakura's first contact with the Ssi-rruk and an explanation of how it is that I came to be wearing this uniform."

Piett's stomach lurched at the bitter anger in the man's tone. Apparently, General Madine's suggestion of Bakura being a "neutral enough" meeting location was _actually_ an abbreviation for "neutral enough that they might as well be fellow Rebels and have already been co-opted by our idealistic fervor." _Lovely._

Sighing inwardly, Firmus nodded as graciously as he could. "Please, Commander, tell me what you can."

#

Khabarakh accompanied his sister and brother-in-arms as they prowled behind the admiral and his stormtroopers. His body thrummed with tension and a quick glance to the side revealed his companions to be in a similarly agitated state. Undoubtedly, their anxiety stemmed from the same source as his: they were to meet the son of Lord Vader, the offspring of the man who'd betrayed them.

A hiss of remembered outrage nearly escaped his snout, held back only by the ruthless self-discipline ingrained by years of service, a service revealed to have been performed in exchange for a false promise of salvation.

Upon their departure from the _Executor_ to the other ships of the task force, they'd received their final communique from their master. That message had first been admission of the extent to which Lord Vader had betrayed them before going on to reveal the nature of his relationship to Luke Skywalker. Lord Vader had the temerity to request two final services from his people in exchange for his oath that his son would aid them faithfully. Only because the oath sworn by Lord Vader was one that Skywalker could be held accountable to did the Noghri see the faintest glimmer of hope.

Hope was a cruel thing to offer the Noghri in their desperation to save their world. Like the gifting of salt to an Arcona, offering even the slightest scent of hope to a Noghri was both yearned for and despaired of because it simply couldn't be ignored. There was so little hope for their people now and having seen the extent of the Empire's foulness, seeking aid elsewhere had been an increasingly attractive solution. Who besides the Empire was even capable of providing the necessary aid? The Hapans had the resources to aid them but they'd never shown any interest in the galaxy outside of the Consortium. The Hutts _possibly_ had the resources and Honoghr bordered their territory but history had shown repeatedly that asking for _assistance_ from the Hutts was tantamount to placing a slave collar around yourself. Trading organizations would find no financial return in saving their planet, so whom did that leave?

It'd been Meewalh who'd realized that with the Empire now paralyzed by the loss of so many high ranking military and political leaders at the Battle of Endor, there was really only one other entity that they might approach. Though they lacked the vast resources the Empire held at its disposal, working with the Rebellion held the advantage of operating with a group unfettered by the rampant xenophobia of the Empire. If they weren't capable of providing the _most_ assistance, the Rebels _were_ likely to be the most genuine in whatever assistance they _did_ offer.

And wasn't it convenient that by fulfilling Lord Vader's request, they'd be able to use Luke Skywalker's prominent position within the Rebellion to fulfill their own goals. It was possible that Skywalker wouldn't be currying favor within the Rebellion once his heritage was revealed, so they'd elected to act quickly. Making use of 'appropriated' hypercomm equipment, the Noghri leaders had come to a decision while they'd been in transit to Imperial Center. If protecting the son of Vader would provide them the opportunity to entreat with the Rebellion, then so be it.

From the moment they'd learned of Vader's betrayal, the Noghri had _raged_ while they lay trapped in hyperspace within the ships of the task force. They'd raged against Lord Vader as the one who'd lied to them, against the Empire that'd enabled and benefited from their exploitation, against those who'd poisoned their world so many years ago, and as always, they'd both raged and despaired at the creeping illness that had devastated Honoghr. The anger they'd felt was not an anger to be internalized and suppressed, it was not an anger that could be set aside, it was an anger that would burn in their hearts until it was unleashed.

Nevertheless, once they'd made their decision to abide by Lord Vader's request and protect Skywalker, they'd _finally_ been able to express their...dissatisfaction upon the many rivals and hostile powers that might threaten the son of Lord Vader. Dispensing their vengeance first upon the mutineers in the task force while in hyperspace and later on Imperial Center and several nearby Core worlds, they'd used fang, claw, blade, and blaster to impress upon the Empire the penalty for deceiving his people. By eliminating many of the Empire's most powerful and ardent supporters, they'd also delighted in the knowledge that they were also destroying those most likely to be culpable in the Empire's manipulation of the Noghri.

They'd settled the debt owed to them by the Empire, now all that remained was to determine whether they'd find their vengeance against Lord Vader in the slaying of his son or if Skywalker, either through the Empire or the Rebellion, truly would give them the aid they so desperately needed. They would treat Skywalker as they'd treated his sire for now but they would be watching him for the slightest hint of duplicity.

Khabarakh raised his head and sniffed deeply, seeking the scent that had once been associated with their savior, a scent that might do so once again if Vader had spoken truly. After a deeper sniff, he lowered his head in disappointment while idly fingering a long, bone knife at his side.

Upon entering the turbolift, the Noghri had stood along the edge of the large lift, silent and watchful of the others as the lift descended toward the ground level of the building. Largely ignoring the quiet conversation being held between the admiral and the Bakuran commander, Khabarakh studied the stormtroopers in front of him noting their occasional nervous movements and the tight grip they held on their weapons. He suppressed a grimace; it would be unfortunate and inconvenient if one of them were to do something foolish.

When the lift's doors finally slid open, the Noghri were again trailing the others, studying the surroundings and noting the other guards posted through the building. The building didn't seem particularly well guarded and he hadn't seen any evidence of a trap but—

Khabarakh's head snapped up as he sniffed the air and saw that both Meewalh and Cakhmaim were doing the same. There was the faintest scent in the air, so faint that it was almost impossible to discern from the myriad of other scents in the area. In fact, if they hadn't been expecting it, it likely _would_ have been impossible, but the familiarity of it left little doubt as to whom such a scent might cling. Khabarakh's shoulders tightened as the Imperial delegation approached the source of that scent and steeled himself for the task of learning what sort of a man Luke Skywalker was.

#

Standing in the center of the Senator Chamber, Luke Skywalker waited at the forefront of the Alliance delegation, distinguishable from his comrades by his black clothing and instantly recognizable to Admiral Piett after having spent the better part of four years hunting the man. A gleaming lightsaber at his side, black boots, black pants, black long-sleeved shirt, black vest, and a single black glove that covered a hand Piett knew to be prosthetic.

 _Well, he might be a Rebel but at least he's keeping up with the family color scheme_ , he mused before turning his gaze over to the man's companions.

Many of them were instantly recognizable from the exhaustive investigation conducted upon the young Jedi and _none_ of them were anything he'd consider remotely close to neutral in regard to the Empire. Unsurprising, but still disappointing in that the uphill battle of diplomatic negotiations he'd expected had become much steeper.

Leia Organa, Princess of the planet the first Death Star had erased from the stars, stood at Skywalker's side. In the absence of their Chief of State, it was likely that she would be serving as the primary diplomat for the other party. The Princess had the greatest reason of their party to hate both the Empire and the son of Darth Vader, but by standing with Skywalker, she represented a chance for Piett to make his case.

Then there was Han Solo, whom Skywalker's own father had tortured and encased in carbonite, now apparently a general of the Rebellion, though he lacked the uniform and insignia. Piett's eyes widened at the sight of the next man, whom he'd instantly recognized from the Bespin debacle. Lando Calrissian, former Baron Administrator of Cloud City and now a...general of the Rebellion? Piett almost laughed until he realized that he, like the others, had ample reason to despise the Empire.

Surely they must know why this meeting was taking place, and yet they had all remained steadfast in their loyalty to Skywalker. Piett supposed he should consider Skywalker's ability to engender loyalty through a medium other than fear to be a positive improvement, but it _might_ be a little too progressive of a concept for most of the Moffs.

Moving on, he studied the two pilots, recognizable from their uniforms and insignia and both of whom he recalled from various intelligence reports on Skywalker. The Corellian, Commander Antilles, was supposed to be one of Skywalker's best friends and the current leader of Rogue Squadron, the Rebellion's counterpart to Fel's 181st. The other pilot was currently receiving the stink eye from Baron Fel, confirming his guess that the man was Tycho Celchu, Alderaanian Rogue Squadron pilot and former student of Colonel Fel's.

Piett heaved a mental sigh. Another Alderaanian. Lovely. As if there _weren't_ enough people here ready to take a blaster to his head on sheer principle.

On Skywalker's other side was an unfamiliar elegant-looking woman unadorned by Imperial or Rebel insignia whom he guessed to be the Bakuran senator Thanas had mentioned. Hearing a series of loud beeps, Firmus glanced to his side to examine two droids stationed perhaps five meters away, a protocol and an astromech droid who were currently in the midst of a heated argument. Piett shook his head and sniffed disdainfully; droids should be mindwiped periodically to prevent that sort of behavior.

The remaining members of the Rebel delegation wore their Army standards, and though they were armed, their blasters were slung over their backs in a show of good faith. He was quite pleased with this; his stormtroopers had done similarly by holstering theirs. No one was pointing a rifle at anyone yet, so far so good.

And then the Noghri silently brushed past him, stalking toward Skywalker with the focused intensity they usually reserved for their prey.

 _Sithspit!_

#

The Alliance party tensed, hands dropping to the nearest available weapon as the three short, brown-robed figures approached them. No one had failed to notice how pale the admiral's face had turned or how the stormtroopers at his back looked equally stiff; this _hadn't_ been planned.

Luke frowned as he studied them. He didn't sense any imminent danger but that didn't necessarily mean they were friendly or had good intentions. Hoping to discern their purpose before an incident occurred, he touched their minds with a brush of the Force. As with many non-humans, Luke found it inherently more difficult to touch the consciousness of a being whose mind was structured so differently than his own and struggled to make sense out of what he sensed. Still, even though the creature's thoughts and intentions might be indeterminable, the slight brush against their emotions nearly had him reeling back, overwhelmed at the intensity of the emotions roiling within each one of the three beings. Rage, so much rage, desperation, fear, and hope all jumbled together so tightly that he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began.

There was anger at him, yes, but it didn't seem...focused, a sort of anger that involved him without being directed _at_ him. Past that anger, he sensed only a burgeoning curiosity as they closed the distance.

Hearing a 'snap' as Han unstrapped his holster, Luke glanced at his friend and held out a hand in warning. "Han, stop."

The ex-smuggler paused and withdrew his hand from his blaster pistol, giving both him and the approaching figures hard stares. "Certainly, Your Augustnessness," he muttered before continuing to grumble, "already giving orders like he owns the damn galaxy."

Wedge coughed to hide his amusement and there was a suspicious glint in Leia's eye that spoke of merciless teasing in Luke's future.

Oddly enough, it was Wedge's cough that drew Luke's attention away from his friends and the approaching creatures. The sound had drawn the attention of the Imperial officer at Admiral Piett's side, a Colonel bearing the squadron patch of the 181st who seemed to determined to do...something that specifically involved Wedge. The strength of that determination was built upon a foundation of sadness and love. He was here on Bakura for a reason, Luke realized, for someone or something entirely unrelated to the events at hand that had everything to do with Wedge.

Deciding that his focus had strayed for long enough, he inwardly shrugged and made a mental note to bring it up with his friend later. Feeling the wariness and hostility rise behind him, Luke turned his eyes upon the creatures as they stalked closer.

"It's okay, guys, it's okay," he assured them, wishing that he felt half as confident as he sounded.

"Saying things like that is usually a prelude to you being dunked in bacta, Luke," Lando pointed out helpfully.

"'There was a meteorite that hit the ground nearby; I want to check it out. It won't take long. Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine!'" Han parroted. "Yep, that led to the coldest night in my life and a trip to the bacta tank for you."

"Oh shut up," Luke hissed and gave a tense smile to the robed figures who'd stopped within a meter of him. They leaned in closer and he heard them inhale deeply several times, making sniffing sounds even as he resisted the instinctive urge to sniff himself in order to determine whether a shower was necessary. They repeated this process, during which time Admiral Piett's face had gone from ashen to looking absolutely mortified.

After what seemed like an hour, the three figures straightened and glanced at once another before dropping to their knees. "Son of Vader," the lead figured hissed, voice sounding reptilian though nowhere near as sibilant as that of a Barabel's, "you are ours to protect and the Noghri are yours to command."

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

A sudden wave of hatred made Luke's head jerk upwards so that he stared over their kneeling forms, past Admiral Piett, and the colonel at his side. Four of the five stormtroopers who'd positioned themselves as a rearguard for Admiral Piett had assumed a defensive stance, ready to reach for their blasters if necessary but appeared to be relatively relaxed. But the last stormtrooper...

His heart sank; knowing nothing good was about to happen, he reluctantly reached for his lightsaber.

"Traitors!"

Quickly stepping out of his comrade's reach, the fifth stormtrooper took advantage of the Noghri's absence to make his move. One plastoid-armored fist reached toward his utility belt even as Luke summoned his lightsaber into his hand, igniting the brilliant, emerald blade with a _snap-hiss_.

Luke positioned the blade parallel to his body, ready to deflect any form of projectile or blaster that might be heading their way. Unfortunately, it wasn't the holstered blaster the stormtrooper reached for, no, it was something far worse. For the others, everything must have seemed to happen in an instant, but for Luke, time seemed to slow down to a crawl as he reacted to the threat.

Those around him looked on with wide eyes, the ignited lightsaber drawing their attention from the true threat beyond Admiral Piett. Aside from his own drawn lightsaber, it was the "Noghri" at his feet who acted first, springing into action long before any of the Rebel or Imperial escorts. They whirled to face the source of the enraged shout and quickly zeroed in on the danger.

Yet even as they began moving, the stormtrooper pulled an object from his utility belt and twisted away to avoid a blade thrown by one of the Noghri. The blade, having missed the intended target of the man's chest, instead buried itself along the side of the man's torso, penetrating both armor and flesh with a meaty 'thump'. The blow drew a grunt from the stormtrooper but the man stayed on his feet, revealing a round object in his hand that, even as Luke watched, began flashing.

 _Ah, shavit_ , Luke swore. _A dead man's switch._

Knowing that a lightsaber or a blaster would be useless, Luke calmed himself and called upon the Force to do what needed to be done.

The stormtroopers at the assassin's side had finally grasped that the danger didn't lie with the lightsaber wielding Jedi but instead with their explosive-wielding squadmate by their side. Three of the other stormtroopers turned their blasters upon the assassin and the other moved as if to tackle the combatant.

"He's holding a thermal detonator!" Threepio cried out.

"For the Emperor!" the man screamed.

Luke flung his left hand toward the man, focusing on... _there!_ Feeling the man's life, his essence within the Force, Luke concentrated on it and willed the man to _stop_.

The man _stopped_ , and though no part of him moved, his entire body seemed to vibrate with tension. When no explosion followed the man's shouted declaration, there was a brief moment of confusion experienced by the Imperials while the Rebels quickly deduced that the _Jedi_ holding an active lightsaber might've had _something_ to do with their survival.

"Guess, somebody is out of the loop about the 'Emperor' thing," Han muttered, "and here I thought my friend was about to be able to afford some decent clothing for once."

"Please don't distract the Jedi keeping us alive, Han," Lando growled.

"There's nothing wrong with my Jedi uniform," Luke said defensively.

"Not unless you're actually _trying_ to go for "dark, depressed, and possibly Sith Lord" chic," Leia hissed.

"Just add some flashing buttons and a cute, little helmet and we'll be calling you Darth Luke in no time," Han huffed.

 _There is no emotion, there is peace,_ Luke silently chanted, refusing to let himself be drawn in by the untimely banter. _Concentrate, feel the Force_. He'd stopped objects before using the Force, but never a _person_ so completely as this. _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._ —

"20 creds he's doing the Code again," Dansra's voice floated toward him.

"No bet," Han and Wedge returned in unison.

Deciding that silence would continue to serve him best, Luke tuned out his friends and instead examined the stormtrooper whom he'd immobilized with the Force.

The man wasn't moving, but the way the other stormtroopers were hesitant to approach the would-be assassin meant that they too understood what was keeping him alive. Luke let out a deep breath and elected not to tell anyone exactly how close the trooper had come to releasing the dead man's switch. Luke cleared his mind and ruthlessly suppressed the man's attempts to break free of his hold.

"Secure that detonator, I've got him," Luke ordered, hand still outstretched.

Ignoring the harsh, panting breaths of the assassin, a stormtrooper adorned with the blue-streaked armor of a commander gave him a long look before cautiously approaching his comrade. Luke felt the assassin struggle harder and whispered into the man's mind through the Force, increasing the strength of the grip he held on the man's body even as he did so.

 _Stop. Just stay still. Stay still. Stay still. Still is safe. Stay safe, Stay still. Just…stop._

There was a moment of mental resistance before the assassin's will gradually bent under the sway of Luke's suggestion but the young Jedi remained vigilant in maintaining the hold he'd placed upon the man. He'd learned a long time ago that when thermal detonators were involved, it was better to be safe than sorry.

The commander paused and glanced back at Luke, waiting until Luke nodded again before gently replacing the assassin's thumb with his own to keep pressure on the switch. Carefully removing the device from the frozen stormtrooper's hand, he then deactivated the explosive and secured it in his own pack.

By then, two of the other stormtroopers had placed themselves behind the aspiring suicide bomber, waiting for further instructions. Luke nodded at them and released the man from his mental hold, allowing his ungloved hand to fall to his side. The man instantly renewed his struggles but the two stormtroopers flanking him each grabbed an arm and forced him onto his knees, removing the man's helmet to unmask the assassin. When he continued to struggle, one stormtrooper jabbed an elbow into the man's knife wound, causing the man's face to go sheet-white as the embedded knife shifted within him. Struggling less, the man instead took turns glaring at both Admiral Piett and at him, but remained silent.

By now every armed escort, be they Alliance, Imperial, or Bakuran, held a blaster at the ready, but thank the gods, had them trained downwards instead of at the opposing party. It was hardly an auspicious start, but it _could've_ gone wors— Luke cut his internal musings off before he inadvertently triggered an optimism-induced cataclysmic event that would see Bakura swallowed by a black hole or some other equally unpleasant occurrence.

Realizing the distinctive humming of a lightsaber was probably an unwelcome sound by most of the Imperials, Luke deactivated his blade and clipped it to his side, feeling the tension gripping both parties begin to ease in response. Clasping his hands behind his back, Luke elected to let the other side make the next move.

Piett's face had remained composed throughout the brief sequence of events, but Luke felt the man's diminishing fear being replaced by fury. "Senator, Commander Skywalker, I apologize on behalf of the Empire for the abuse of your hospitality. I'm afraid recent events have taxed the loyalty of even the most honorable of my men. Senator, would you prefer to have this man detained under Bakuran security or shall I take care of the matter myself?"

Luke glanced aside at Leia and the twins shared a grimace, each hearing the frosty, murderous emphasis on "take care of."

Gaeriel tilted her head in thought before shaking her head from side to side at the Axxilan admiral. "We'll take responsibility and detain him during the proceedings and remand him to your custody upon the conclusion of your negotiations."

Switching her gaze from Piett to two of the Bakuran Security Force personnel, she waved a hand at the wounded assassin. "See to it that he receives medical attention for the wound in his side," Gaeriel commanded and with a simple gesture of her hand, the two troopers detached themselves from Commander Thanas's side. Quickly taking the place of the stormtroopers watching over the assassin, they swiftly attached stuncuffs to the man's wrists behind his back. The man swore viciously, at them, the Empire, the Rebellion, at the whole universe it seemed and began struggling against his captors' hold, heedless of pain his struggles incurred.

The colonel at Piett's side let out an audible sigh of annoyance and gestured to the struggling captive. "Commander?"

The stormtrooper detachment's commander stepped forward and nodded in response to the colonel's unspoken order. Making an adjustment to his blaster rifle, the commander shot the man's unprotected face with a stun round, instantly rendering the man unconscious.

No longer obstructed by the man's frantic movements, the two Bakuran guards bent down, armor creaking as they hauled their limp captive from the floor. One Bakuran deposited the stormtrooper none too gently over his shoulder and began walking away while the other trooper followed behind, keeping his blaster in a ready position should their captive wake.

Feeling a surge of pity for the angry, bitter man, Luke felt compelled to say _something_ on behalf of the man. It was a foolish, idealistic tendency, but he was a man who believed in second chances. "I believe, Admiral, that recent events have made it difficult for many of us to define what "treason" and "loyalty" are. His was an egregious offense, but as you yourself said, recent events have been jarring to all of us. I think that should be remembered when he's returned to your authority."

The hawk-nosed admiral's face went blank as he studied Luke, searching for...who knows what, but whatever it was that Admiral Piett seemed to have found appeared to amuse the older man. "Very well, Commander Skywalker."

Luke had the sense that, were he comfortable enough to do so, Piett would be giving him a patronizing pat on the head at that moment. The general amusement he felt from those at his back only seemed to confirm his suspicion.

Hearing a sigh of resignation, Luke turned to see Gaeri looking at him, eyes filled with worry. "You really do attract a lot of trouble, don't you?" Gaeriel murmured, looking pale but sounding as calm as ever as she observed the captive stormtrooper being carried out of sight.

"You have _no_ idea," Leia whispered from his other side.

#

With the assassination attempt foiled, Luke let the silence hold before turning back to the 'Noghri' who now stood in front of him, no longer prostrating themselves, but still giving off an air of deference.

"So...you're my bodyguards?" Luke asked lamely and, true to form, offered the truly cringe worthy acknowledgement of, "that's good."

Their short height and brown robes had initially evoked the image of a particularly tall Jawa in Luke's mind, but he learned exactly how wrong he'd been when the three Noghri slowly removed their hoods. Gray-skinned with vaguely reptilian features, the Noghri were less than a meter and a half tall. Each of them had short snouts filled with wicked looking fangs, clawed hands, and black eyes. They were heavily muscled and wore a thick, dark brown, synthleather jerkin and pants that appeared more cloth-like and of a lighter color. Both articles of clothing looked as though they might have plastoid-like armored composite scales laced into the clothing over the more typically vulnerable areas found on humanoids. And they were armed, _very_ armed, with a multitude of weapons and tools attached to the brown belt that wrapped around both waist and across the chest. The sudden spikes of nervousness that emanated not only from the troopers at Luke's back but _also_ from the Empire's representatives only served to underscore the overall aura of danger and lethality the creatures seemed to exude.

"Yikes," Han murmured.

His study of the beings ended when the figure directly in front of him stepped forward slightly, "We are Noghri. I am Khabarakh of clan Khim'bar." He gestured first to his left, "this is Cakhmaim of Eikh'mir," and then to his right, "and Meewalh of Grishnakh." Khabarakh pointed a claw at him and declared in that oddly sibilant hiss, "Lord Vader informed us of the existence of his son and asked that we protect him. He told us of your name, Luke Skywalker, and we smell his blood flowing in your veins."

As Khabarakh's finished speaking, Luke's attention was diverted to the tallest of the Noghri, Meewalh, who'd gone eerily still. Meewalh, a female he'd gathered, tilted her head to him and sniffed deeply and then pointed her snout to Luke's left side and sniffed several more times. It was hard to interpret what she was feeling, her mind being a far different construct than a human's, but Luke guessed the feeling radiating from her was confusion or possibly shock. The Noghri female hissed something to Khabarakh that made the Noghri go as motionless as Meewalh herself had just been. The Noghri warrior leaned in and sniffed Luke once again before pointing his snout to Luke's side. Again, to his left side. The side Leia, his _sister_ , stood on. Luke froze. _They claimed to have been able to smell the blood of Lord Vader in my veins..._

Luke stifled his sudden panic and forced his face to remain composed, aware of the admiral's narrowed eyes taking in the obvious tension that suddenly gripped the Noghri. Clearing his throat, he caught their eyes and shook his head minutely. "Yes, I am Luke Skywalker, the _child_ of Lord Vader," he stated firmly, placing as much emphasis as he could on the singular nature of his status, "but with my father's death, there isn't any reason that you should still feel beholden to him _or_ me. You are free to do as you please."

The three Noghri glanced at each other, at him, and at Leia as they spoke their native tongue in sibilant voices. "Lord Vader left us instructions to be carried out upon his death," Khabarakh hissed out after a prolonged silence. "We would not dismiss them so easily."

Clamping his mouth shut to avoid saying something impolitic, Luke glanced at his sister with a questioning look. She grimaced and shrugged a shoulder.

"You often travel with a Wookiee," the third Noghri, Cakhmaim, growled at Han. "We were told that it is a matter of a life debt. The Noghri hold a standard of honor similar to the Wookiees and the debt he owes you is one similar to the debt owed between our people and those of clan Vader. We _will_ settle that debt."

"Yikes," Han repeated. "I think I prefer Chewie, even if his hair _does_ clog the fresher."

"Oh." Luke wasn't sure what else there was to say about that, having experienced firsthand the lengths a Wookiee would go to in order to settle a life debt. Though there'd been a slight undertone of menace in the Noghri's words, he'd hadn't sensed any deception from Cakhmaim. More importantly, all three of the Noghri seemed to understand his desire for Leia's heritage to kept secret.

"Well, now that all the excitement appears to be over," Gaeriel commented lightly, "perhaps it's best that you actually begin the negotiations you came here for."

"I believe that would be for the best," Piett agreed coolly.

"Gaer—" Luke winced when Leia stepped on his foot _hard._ " _Senator_ Captison, if you'll lead the way please."

No doubt catching the slip of his tongue along with his sister's self-described 'corrective measures', Gaeriel gave him an amused look, "of course, Commander."

Luke gave a grateful smile then turned back to the admiral who had turned his life upside down three days ago. "Why don't we adjourn to the meeting room Senator Captison set aside for our use, Admiral, and see if we can't figure a way out of this mess," Luke offered.

Admiral Piett looked relieved and gave him a curt nod. "I quite agree..."

The man looked suddenly appeared confused and slightly bewildered and Luke couldn't help but feel amused at the admiral's predicament. "For now, Admiral Piett, perhaps you might simply address me as Commander Skywalker. I don't believe that either one of us is ready for something more...lofty."

"Of course," the older man nodded. "Please, lead the way, Senator."

Gaeriel flashed Luke a smile and held an arm out for the others by way of invitation. "Gentlebeings, right this way."

#

Walking side by side with Admiral Piett to the more secure conference room Gaeriel had offered for their use, Luke shot a covert glance toward the Imperial officer to see the man staring fixedly ahead. Luke pursed his lips, having no need of the Force to see how uncomfortable the man was. Luke didn't blame the admiral one bit because at that moment, there was nothing Luke wanted to do more than run away from whatever his father had planned for him. But...perhaps he could at least make things more comfortable for the both of them.

"Admiral Piett, I understand that our original agreement was to keep our respective escorts by our sides but perhaps it would be best if they remained outside the chamber. The room is certainly large enough but given the...sensitive nature of the topic at hand, I'd prefer that we keep things as private as possible."

Seeing that he'd caught the Admiral's attention, Luke glanced briefly at the colonel who trailed behind Piett, whose uniform bore the squadron patch of the 181st. If he hadn't been killed at Endor, Luke was fairly certain that the man who'd seemed so interested in Wedge was none other than Baron Soontir Fel. With sudden inspiration, Luke nodded toward Wedge and Fel. "I'm sure Commander Antilles and...Colonel Fel was it? might discover a number of things they might have in common, being the leaders of our two government's premier starfighter squadrons. Perhaps our other escorts will do as well, a social experiment of sorts. But for now, Admiral, I would prefer it if it were just you, Princess Organa, my astromech droid for the purpose of keeping records, and myself."

Baron Fel flinched at being called out and gave Luke a hard stare even as his face went completely blank. Luke could feel the man's surprise and hope when he'd suggested that he and Wedge meet, but a fear now tempered his initial positive emotions. _Interesting,_ Luke thought, almost gleeful at the thought of wheedling it out of Wedge later, _the man definitely has a secret to tell._

Piett looked thoughtful and began slowly nodding. "I must admit that with one of my guards being detained for his assassination attempt and the Noghri's declaration of loyalty toward you, I don't believe it particularly matters whether or not I bring the remainder of my party."

"If you leave Lando and I out of this, kid, I'll tell the bucketheads your most embarrassing stories," Han growled quietly.

"I'll risk it, don't worry, Leia will tell you all the details later. Besides, _irritating_ the Empire isn't the current objective, so your talents might be better served elsewhere. Perhaps sabacc?" Luke murmured, shooting his friend a quick smile. "And don't tell me you didn't bring a deck, I know you better than that."

Han made a face but nodded his assent, "assuming you're taking Artoo, I'll take the professor off your hands."

Luke shot him a look that was pure, unadulterated gratitude.

"One of our number will accompany you," Meewalh's voice hissed. She and her two companions had moved to place themselves between him and the rest of the Imperial delegation after the assassination attempt and now all three looked at him intently.

Opening his mouth to object, Luke was surprised when Piett cleared his throat to forestall him. "That's quite alright, Commander Skywalker, the Noghri are...very dedicated to those they serve. Their insistence isn't surprising," Piett assured him.

"I…see. Then I thank you for your understanding, Admiral Piett." When Luke glanced downward, he nearly jumped out of his skin when all three of the gray-skinned bodyguards appeared to have manifested themselves to less than a meter away from him, watching him carefully. "Meewalh?"

The female Noghri nodded and hissed out a string of words to her two compatriots. They both gave curt nods in response and immediately dashed off to shadowed alcoves within the greater chamber, disappearing from view in a matter of seconds.

"Yikes," Han stated for a third time.

Piett grimaced and didn't disagree. In truth, he was rather impressed with General Solo; he couldn't ever recall hearing a more succinct and accurate description of the feeling engendered by the Noghri.

"Senator...Commander Thanas?" Luke queried.

"I'm sure we can find something to occupy ourselves with, Luke," Gaeri replied simply. "We are the hosts of this...conference, if you desire privacy, just ask for it."

Thanas nodded. "I'll go check on our prisoner. Good luck to you both," the man offered solemnly.

"Thank you." Letting out a sigh, Luke examined the inscrutable face of admiral. "Admiral Piett, I suppose it's time that we discuss this gundark nest my father has landed us in."

A corner of the admiral's mouth quirked but he nodded without saying anything, extending an arm to allow Leia to enter the room first. An odd gesture, Luke mused, one he wouldn't have expected from most senior Imperial officers given their predilection for substituting misogyny for chivalry.

Allowing the reality and gravity of the situation to take root within him, he let out a deep breath. Indicating for Artoo to enter first, he followed the droid, sensing Meewalh's presence follow behind.

 _Showtime._

* * *

The two groups stood, watching each other with a mixture of wariness and discomfort. Without having been assigned a specific purpose they spent the first five minutes alternating between glaring at one another and pretending the other didn't exist.

"Commander, you and your troopers can take off the helmets if you want; I think we're past the point where they'll do much good here," Soontir finally suggested, turning to nod at the four remaining stormtroopers who still defensively as his back.

The commander glanced at him sharply before he nodded to the others. "Go ahead," a male voice filtered from the commander's helmet. The first one to follow Fel's orders to remove his helmet, the commander of the stormtrooper detachment revealed himself to be a clone, one of the older generations judging by his resemblance to the original template from the Clone Wars. The other three were enlistees, all young, human men who appeared to be extremely uncomfortable in being exposed.

 _Join the crowd_ , Fel thought inwardly and put some distance between himself and his escorts to get some breathing space.

On the opposite side of the Senate Chamber, several of the Rebel armed escorts had evidently grown bored of the standoff and were in the process of commandeering a group of repulsor chairs. General Solo had produced a sabacc deck and was shuffling the cards over a nearby wooden table, speaking quietly to the others. The ones who hadn't joined in had taken guard positions near the closed doors of the room Skywalker, the Princess, and Admiral Piett had sequestered themselves in. Though Generals Solo and Calrissian continued to give the stormtroopers wary looks, it became quickly obvious that they really did intend on running a card game as credits began to appear on the table top.

 _They might be generals of the Rebellion now, but it seems their smuggler roots still run deep_ , Fel noted derisively, unsure if he should feel appalled or amused. Shifting his gaze over to the side of the room, Fel's ambivalent mood darkened.

Tycho Celchu.

The man had wandered to stare out of a window overlooking a nearby park and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked as stiff as the green officer's jacket he wore, cold and unapproachable. His hair was as blonde as ever and had grown far longer than permissible by Imperial standards, the influence of the Rebellion, no doubt. Soontir sighed at the sight of his ex-student, a pang of sympathy warring with the anger in his heart for having been betrayed. At some point, he knew he'd have to confront Tycho, the man who'd once been among the most prominent of his pupils, but everything about the man's posture seemed to scream "leave me alone."

Soontir continued to observe the man, but his thoughts turned elsewhere or rather, to some _one_ else. Why had Skywalker singled him and Antilles out? The man's reasons had been sound, more or less, but the look in his eyes had been far too knowing. _Did_ he know? That question led down a dark path; there'd always been rumors that Darth Vader could read the minds of others—could Skywalker have taken the knowledge from his mind?

Though Skywalker lacked the same aura of menace his father had possessed, the boy's ability to prevent the assassin from blowing them all into particles indicated that father and son shared at least _some_ capabilities. If so, it'd make keeping Skywalker alive a much less arduous process, but Fel wasn't much keen on having another Vader in charge of things. Soontir shook his head, he was getting ahead of himself and it was far too early to make snap judgments in comparing Vader to his son.

For whatever reason, Luke Skywalker had given Soontir the opportunity he'd been hoping for, the one that had led him to volunteer for the mission in the first place. Wedge Antilles had accompanied Skywalker to Bakura but now that he was within reach, Soontir Fel realized he hadn't a clue how to approach the man or how to say what needed to be said.

"So, what do you want?" a male, Corellian accented voice called from beside him.

Distracted as he was by his examination of Celchu and internal monologue concerning Skywalker and Antilles, the sudden intrusion of his personal space jolted him back into reality. However, any thought of berating the one responsible disappeared the moment he realized exactly who that intruder was.

"Pardon?" he stalled, searching for a way to control the conversation with his brother-in-law.

Commander Wedge Antilles arched an eyebrow. "Luke may have been a country bumpkin a few years back when he first joined up, but he's never been stupid; becoming the man, the _Jedi_ , that he is today gives him a sort of insight none of us have. If he wanted us to talk, then it's probably not about our respective difference in opinion on whether a TIE or an X-Wing is a better starfighter. Luke might be a powerful Jedi Knight now, but anyone who's ever met the guy knows he's about as subtle as a rancor," Wedge's lips curled into a smile as he spoke about his friend.

 _He has the same smile as Syal,_ Fel thought, watching the shift of lines change the shape of the man's face.

"It's the X-Wing, by the way," the Rebel pilot added as an afterthought.

"What?" Baron Fel blinked, confused at the abrupt declaration.

"The X-Wing. It's better than the TIE. Just covering all our bases in case that _is_ really what Luke _was_ after," Wedge declared impishly.

Soontir shook his head, smiling faintly. "Yes, perhaps, but... There's something I wanted to tell you, it's rather...personal."

Wedge raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. "Color me intrigued. What's on your mind?"

 _Oh well, here goes._ "My wife," Fel offered truthfully. Soontir _had_ put a lot of thought into this moment and had come to the conclusion that simply informing Antilles that, "I found your sister, I married her, and we have kids, surprise!" was a less than stellar option.

Wedge's lips quirked. "We saw the footage on the HoloNet. Wynssa Starflare, huh? You're a lucky man. But, uh...gotta admit I'm hard-pressed finding a personal connection there."

"Ah, yes, that's because that's not her real name. It's a stage name, you see," Soontir admitted, keeping his face calm even as his heart kicked it up a notch. "You would know her as Syal Antilles, or more accurately now, Syal Antilles Fel."

Soontir winced. Perhaps adding in the last bit was unnecessary, but judging by the way Wedge Antilles's face had gone pale, he doubted that Antilles had even registered the comment.

"What did you say?" Antilles whispered.

Fel gave the man a sympathetic smile. "Syal Antilles, your sister, is alive. She told me about you shortly before we were married."

With every word, the man's face seemed to lose more and more color until he was sheet-white. The man's hands had balled into fists, almost shaking with tension. Unsure whether Antilles was about to collapse or throw a punch, Fel took his chances and withdrew the fist-sized holopad he kept with him at all times.

With a flick of his finger, he activated it, producing an image of two laughing toddlers wrapped in the arms of their radiant, smiling mother. "Taken last year. Your nephews, Davin on the left, Chak on the right."

"I—" Wedge cut himself off, breathing heavily and still pale. "I—oh shavit... I—give me a moment."

Fel almost put the projector away, but seeing the way Antilles's eyes had fastened onto Syal's image, decided to take one of the other man's hands into his own and placed the projector into the man's trembling palm. Feeling somewhat awkward at being witness to the man's emotional distress, he patting the man's arm lightly before letting go. "Like I said, she'd spoken of you before and you being here...I felt obligated to let you know about your sister and to meet you without laser blasts getting in the way. Syal had no greater fear than learning that one of us had shot the other down. Take all the time you need, we can talk later."

His brother-in-law just nodded.

Fel clapped the man's shoulder lightly and decided to join the crowd surrounding Commander Cody, curious as to how he'd enthralled his audience of both Imperial and Rebel attendees.

* * *

"Mind if I sit in?"

Han, Lando, Dansra, and Delevar immediately ceased their bickering and stared at the gruff-voiced newcomer.

"Commander, _if_ you have the stomach to sit around with us rebellious types then go ahead," Han invited with a tight smile. Tilting his head, Han studied the stormtrooper closely. "One of the early clones, yeah? Ran into a few of you at the academy."

The clone's expression was shuttered as he gave Han a flat stare. "You probably won't in the future, there aren't a lot of us left, General Solo. Those of us left after the Clone Wars and still on active duty were on the first Death Star when it blew, taking them and two-thirds of the Legion with it. A number of my brothers were on the _Executor_ , too."

"501st?" Han guessed, eyes narrowing.

The commander nodded. "Originally commanded the 212th Attack Battalion before transferring to the 501st after the Empire was formed."

Lando whistled. "That's quite a service record, before _and_ after."

"Heard the 501st had a hard-on for taking out the Rebellion, Skywalker specifically," Dansra commented, watching the clone carefully, "I suppose that's changed?"

"He's the heir to the Empire," the commander replied simply, offering no further explanation.

"Well then, seeing as we're all friends here..." Lando glanced at the others, waiting for their assent before extending a hand. "Lando Calrissian, General Calrissian if you want to be formal."

"Cody, Commander Cody." The clone shook the general's hand and took a seat while Lando collected the cards in order to deal the newcomer in.

"Didn't think clones would know how to play sabacc," Delevar prompted, raising an eyebrow.

Cody, who'd been examining the hand he'd been dealt, replied without looking up. "General Skywalker taught my brothers and I how."

A short silence followed the statement before every head swiveled toward the closed doors Luke was ensconced behind.

"Uh, when have you met _Commander_ Skywalker?" Dansra asked him, eyes narrowed.

Cody gave her a derisive look. "Not talking about Commander Skywalker, Corporal, I'm talking about his father. General Kenobi and the 212th were on a joint mission to Christophsis with General Skywalker. While we were in transit, Skywalker taught a group of us all about the _technical_ aspects of sabacc but he claimed simply knowing the rules wasn't enough. Once we were dirtside and unoccupied in the lulls of the fighting, he showed us the _art_ of sabacc. To be honest, I always thought he did it just to annoy his Master or because he was bored, but damn if learning how to bluff didn't save our lives a time or two."

As always, Cody felt a slight pang of sadness as he remembered those days long gone, days when he'd fought at his brothers' side with clear objectives and a reliable chain of command. So much of that had been lost since the Empire was formed; rigid standards being loosened to accommodate the academy graduates who were the offspring privileged Imperial officials, rules bent or broken entirely by corrupt and careless commanding officers who sought power and wealth only for themselves. He'd never say it aloud, but Jedi or not, Kenobi had been good to the 212th, had been without a doubt the best commanding officer he'd ever served under. If the Jedi hadn't turned traitor, perhaps he'd still be serving under General Kenobi instead of being continually relegated to minor commands and being replaced by inept conscripts.

That wistfulness was only slightly mollified by the thrum of satisfaction he felt at the looks of utter bewilderment and astonishment he received from Luke Skywalker's friends. As always, the thought of Skywalker's identity induced a mental hiccup.

 _Lord Vader's son—no, Anakin Skywalker's son,_ he thought, feeling just as amazed as he'd been when he'd first learned of the news. _Shab, I'd bet every credit I own that Commander Skywalker's mother was Senator Amidala; Rex always_ did _think there was something between them._

"You knew Vader?" General Solo asked, his mouth gaping.

Cody looked at him blankly.

"He means before he was Vader," Calrissian clarified on Solo's behalf, "when he was Anakin Skywalker."

By this time, everyone within hearing range was staring at Cody with curiosity, sabacc game completely forgotten.

"I didn't serve directly under him, but he and General Kenobi fought together often enough that I knew him better than most of the other Jedi."

"And?" The corporal, Delevar this time, pressed, "got any decent stories?"

"Well, I led the detachment deployed with Skywalker and Kenobi when we encountered some Geonosian zombies," feeling the smallest of smiles spread across his face, Cody leaned back as he remembered better days, simpler days. "And of course, there's always Cato Neimodia."

* * *

 _"I told you Cata Neimodia counted," Anakin said smugly._

 _Obi-Wan shifted irritably, "no, it didn't, and stop changing the subject. You lost the bet. You know what you have to do."_

 _"No."_

 _"A bet is a bet, Anakin, you have no choice."_

 _"Yes, I do, I'm not doing it."_

 _Obi-Wan crossed his arms and glowered at his former apprentice._

 _"A part of the Force, you may be but honor your obligations, you still must," Yoda harrumphed._

 _Anakin rolled his eyes._

 _Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the older Master. "You lost as well, Master Yoda. Are you prepared to teach young Luke something—"_

" _Useful?" Anakin interrupted Obi-Wan, sneering at the short, green Master._

 _Yoda turned a thunderous gaze upon Anakin. "Teach the boy, I will. Speak to your daughter,_ you _will."_

 _Anakin wilted and closed his eyes. "She doesn't want to see me, she made it quite clear the last time she was on Bakura. And after all this," Anakin waved a hand in the direction of Luke, Leia, and Piett, "I can't see her being any more open to having a Father-Daughter conversation."_

 _"Perhaps not, Anakin, but you need to try or the memories of Darth Vader will always loom over her. At best, it will impede her training and at worst...well, you know exactly what fear and anger can do to a Force-sensitive." Obi-Wan sighed. "I know this isn't easy for you."_

 _"But a bet is a bet."_

 _Obi-Wan gave Anakin a half-smile. "Just so."_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Gah, I spent _so_ much time working on the Noghri section of this chapter, trying to get their whole attitude toward the situation right. Noghri culture is only somewhat known in Legends but it _is_ known that their honor system aligns very closely with the Wookiees so I thought the whole blood price/debt thing was sufficient to bring them into the fold. The Noghri were some of my favorite characters in the Legends universe; I loved how their story and presence continued to develop as the Legends universe was further expanded by the various Star Wars writers. Go Noghri!

For a slight clarification of the Noghri's awareness of Leia/Vader's betrayal: Both the Noghri with Piett and the ones on Honoghr were made aware of Vader's betrayal but _only_ the Noghri on Honoghr were informed of Leia's status as Vader's daughter. His message to Honoghr was last minute and I'm sure that the fact that he was dying can serve as an acceptable excuse for failing to mention it to the others. I only did that because I thought it was a nifty way to keep that "ooh, ahh revelation!" moment.

By my understanding, clones _were_ still in use at the time of the Battle of Endor. The Jango Fett type was slowly phased out by several other clone variants and supplemented by regular enlisted personnel. Eventually, Clone Wars era clones only made up a very small minority of the Empire's military numbers. According to canon, Cody survives the Clone Wars, the Jedi Purges, and eventually ends up on Kamino protecting the cloning facilities. A Rebel attack destroyed the cloning facilities and its defenders. So I am bringing Cody back to life! I'm still debating if I want his involvement in the story to be more than a one-shot sort of deal.


	7. Chapter Six

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I am absolutely astonished at the outpouring of support for Rex to be one of my main characters. Unfortunately, I have no plans of including Rex in my story _at this time_. It would be impossible to avoid discussing/facing the past and it's something that would likely take up a great deal of time and energy to flesh out. This story is ultimately about the future, about Luke's future, and while characters from the past might pop up from time to time, few will have any real bearing on the story. I'm already struggling to keep sub-plots and one-shots from taking over my story and adding a character like Rex would make my job even harder. Again, this is a story about Luke and I think I'm guilty of having lost focus on that fact, so you can expect more of the next few chapters to be centering around him. To underscore that intention, I will begin this chapter by immediately relocating the setting to Coruscant and focus on a non-Luke character, because that's the kind of hypocrite I am. Enjoy.

I'd heard talk of that old guy on the Endor strike team from RotJ being Rex, but to my knowledge, it remains a fan theory only and hasn't been confirmed in any form of media. Does anyone have any proof (an acknowledgment in book, comic, audio, _anything_ ) to lend credence to the theory?

Thank you everyone for your feedback on WotE! If you hadn't figured it out by now, this story will probably end up being pretty long (I mean, shit, as of last chapter we were 70K words in without Luke having even spoken with Piett).

* * *

 **###**

 _"Facts, exact numbers, reassurance...a Jedi seeks not these things."  
— Kyp Durron_

 **#**

 **Nineteen days after BoE**  
 **Imperial Center  
Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

Mara sat on a gray, dented, upturned crate that'd been serving as her makeshift chair for the better part of four hours. She and the other escapees from the Lusankya Complex who'd rallied behind Jan had found themselves in a safe house of sorts, attempting to plan out their next moves and collect information on what was happening in the skies above.

They'd spent the better part of a day crawling out of the giant hulk of the Lusankya and finding themselves in the lower levels of one of the most destitute districts within Imperial City. They'd spent most of the next day continuing their journey toward a destination that was apparently known only to Jan. By _appropriating_ a number of speeders and whatever other forms of transportation they could get their hands on, they'd made their way through the dangerous and dank underbelly of Imperial City until they eventually reached a more hospitable district.

Like the revolt, the escape, and the diaspora of the Lusankya's prisoners, it'd been Jan who'd been designated the leader, protesting all the while that it wasn't just him who led them and that he was "just a man." It would've been truly aggravating except that he genuinely believed that.

Mara shouldn't have been surprised, she really shouldn't have, but she hadn't been able to conceal her shock when Jan introduced the wealthy, respectable-looking human man who'd offered them sanctuary as being one of the Rebellion's local cell leaders. Men, women, human and nonhuman, all were the makeup of an organized resistance hundreds-strong, a resistance that'd evidently been quite busy wreaking havoc upon the Empire for the last few days. Just as galling to her personally was the sheer number of individuals who'd been able to recognize Jan on sight. In fact, not only had Jan been known to them, he'd been respected and trusted well enough that the cell's leader hadn't even _hesitated_ to offer sanctuary and respite to the escapees through a network of safe houses.

She _knew_ the old man, Mara was certain of it and if they'd not met in person then he was a man she'd been briefed about, a man who'd represented a threat to the Empire. And she _couldn't_ recall his dossier. Frustrated and not having anything else to do, she'd elected to stick to him like a sandfly on a bantha, as much to solve the mystery of Jan's identity as to be among the first to receive information about the Empire's status. This had the unfortunate side effect of being the first to learn exactly how bad things were.

Her ruminations were halted as a man burst through the door, scrambling across the floor to reach Jan, who'd been resting on a small cot only a few meters from Mara.

"General!"

Mara sat up from her seat to help Jan to his feet but was beaten there by another eager escapee. She closed her eyes, biting down on her frustration. She _needed_ to know what was happening and as much as she'd like to blame the Rebels for being left in the dark, it'd become quickly apparent that _no one_ had a clue about what was happening.

 _General_ , she mentally repeated for the hundredth time. He'd been addressed as such from time to time but his last name _still_ remained a mystery. Knowing they'd come from Isard's playpen, their taking precautions for the presence of sleeper agents wasn't mere paranoia, not if he was as important as she believed. And he _was_ important judging by the reactions other Rebels had around him.

Mara gritted her teeth in frustration. She didn't need to be focusing on Jan, she should be focusing on...

The redheaded assassin slumped on her crate. What should she be focusing on? Her master was dead, the Empire was in chaos, and there was no clear line of authority for her to report to. All she had was what her Master had given her. Her training, her skills in the Force and...

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

Rubbing her temples, Mara closed her eyes tightly as she waited for the pain to pass. T _hat_ was why she was focusing on Jan, because doing otherwise only led to a headache and the feeling of her master's disapproval permeating her soul.

Sighing, Mara opened her eyes, observing the thin, gray-haired Rebel leader nodding and stroking his long beard at whatever the younger man had rushed in to report. His face was _too_ familiar, he was obviously well connected, certainly well-educated and he wasn't called "General" out of sheer affection. Jan _had_ to be one of the leaders of the greater Rebellion, rather than some small isolated cell; he was simply too capable, too inspiring to have simply come from the local rank and file. But why would her master, or more likely Iceheart, waste a resource like that in Isard's private prison?

Looking away from the mysterious old man, Mara fingered the lightsaber she'd discretely recovered from Isard's office during their escape. She'd kept it out of view but it remained accessible in case her circumstances took a dramatic turn for the worst. She still wasn't at full strength but she was certainly capable of killing a number of these half-trained, idealistic terrorists. Unfortunately, as half-trained and idealistic as they were, they were also surprisingly well-armed. Surrounded by well-armed, fanatics meant any aggressive action on her part was likely to end with her going out in a blaze of glory and that would do the Empire no good at all. So, she'd remain passive, she'd heal and she'd learn more about this group of Rebels.

The floor beneath Mara's crate shuddered, drawing a scowl from the Emperor's Hand.

In truth, she was safer in the middle of the Rebel hideout than she was on her own in the heart of the Empire. If ever she forgot the gift of stability her master had offered the galaxy, all she had to do was look out the nearest window and see the pillars of smoke and flame dotting the cityscape or listen for the sound of laser blasts and crashing debris. As if her very thought had conjured the reality, the sound of a TIE fighter screaming overhead was abruptly silenced as a nearby turbolaser battery picked the starfighter off with a lucky shot.

Yes, the situation on and above Imperial Center had become...complicated.

Mara's head jerked upright when a thunderous boom echoed overhead. That initial boom turned into a roar, a roar that rose in volume until Mara and the others had to cover their ears. Seconds later, the roar changed, evolving into a cacophony of shattering glass, crumbling duracrete, twisting metal, and terrified screams. But the sounds were soon forgotten when the ground beneath their feet began to buckle and a heated wave of dusty air rolled over them like a tsunami.

The distant screams she'd heard before in the distance were now mirrored by others within the safe house. Mara let herself fall to the ground, quickly rolling to one of the more structurally hardened parts of the building, eye cinched shut to shield them from the circulating cloud of dust. Around her, the world continued to pitch and shake for almost an entire minute before things gradually settled. As it did, the sounds of the ongoing nearby destruction returned in full force; nobody dared move except to find better cover lest the whirlwind of destruction begin anew.

 _Well, kriff them, cowards._ Mara thought, standing up and gingerly making her way around the prone forms of other escapees and the debris that had fallen from the plaster over their heads. Peering from behind the barricaded window where the cyclone of air and dust had broken through, she saw a landscape totally alien from that of the one that'd existed two minutes before. Mara felt her mouth drop open in horrified disbelief. "Kriffing hell," she whispered.

"What is it?" someone shouted from across the room. "What happened?"

The Emperor's Hand didn't respond, too preoccupied by the sight before her. She felt a presence behind her back, one taking in the same ruined landscape with the same silence as she. _Jan_.

"Jan, what do you see?" Akabi asked, but the question was rhetorical as she appeared at Mara's side a mere second later. "Emperor's black bones! What is happening up there?"

No one bothered to answer the woman's question because they had no answers to offer; they could only bear witness and try to piece together what had happened. In this case, however, it was fairly easy to determine what had happened because the results had cut a swath of destruction that could've been visible from orbit.

Instead of the occasional glimpses of burning sections of the corporate sector, they were confronted by a world on fire. While this district wasn't exactly the hub of commerce and high-class living in Imperial City, it wasn't the industrial sector either. Millions of beings lived in this district, many in clusters of multi-tiered housing like the building in which she stood. The majority of those millions lived in the skyscrapers and spires Imperial Center was so well known for.

It wasn't there anymore.

Before her lay a ruined, charred landscape. The greater portion of the district had been reduced to rubble and all of the soaring skyscrapers were either gone or slowly splintering apart and crumbling to the ground. The source of the distant screams, Mara realized numbly, all the people trapped inside of those collapsing buildings. She shuddered and glanced away.

Since emerging from the Lusankya, Imperial Center had proved to be a place of utter chaos. How had this come to be? TIE fighters destroying one another in dogfights above, stormtroopers engaging in firefights between buildings or on the open streets and platforms of the city. Since their escape, such scenes had become almost commonplace, but _nothing_ like this. The district, in which hundreds of thousands of people had likely just perished, had been flattened by the battle-scarred, husk of a Star Destroyer. Several other nearby masses of metal indicated that it hadn't been alone in its plunge through the atmosphere. Some sort of large ship—

 _Not a ship_ , Mara realized, green eyes narrowing. Looking closer, she was able to piece together enough of the smoking masses to recognize the superstructure of one of the orbiting Golan III defense platforms.

"That's one of the defense satellites," Jan murmured from behind, his realization coming on the heels of her own. "The Star Destroyer must have _rammed_ the thing." he whispered disbelievingly.

"What in the Sith Hell is happening up there?" Akabi hissed. "All those people..."

As they continued to watch, a trio of fireships descended from the cloud cover above, swiftly locating the worst of the hotspots and unleashing a deluge of fire-suppressant foam. They, and the other approaching emergency responders, _might_ be able to save some of those trapped beneath and within the rubble, but Mara didn't hold much hope for them. She stared at the two burning wreckages that stood so prominent over their blackened surroundings and declared, "if those ships had broken up any more on reentry, we'd probably be dead."

Beside her, Akabi nodded her agreement. "Too right. Jan, what did you learn?"

Mara's body twisted as she locked her gaze onto Jan's profile. "You've had news?" she asked, heart leaping in her chest. _What is happening in the Empire, I have to know!_

Similar calls for information began ringing out from the others, only stopping when Akabi shouted for them to quiet down.

"Settle down, everyone, and I'll tell you what information our slicer has provided," Jan urged, downturned hands raised at chest level, gesturing for them to calm themselves.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, Mara strode back to her crate and sat with an audible sigh of impatience. She saw Akabi giving her a bemused look and Mara fought the urge to stab the other woman in the face with her lightsaber; she was _not_ being petulant.

Jan cleared his voice and nodded his head toward the man who'd rushed in just before the Star Destroyer had slammed into the surface. "Thank you, Castin, for your assistance. We've all been starved for information."

Straightening, the young blonde-haired man gave the older man a whimsical salute. Folding his arms over his high-collared blue tunic, the man's easygoing demeanor sobered. "Sure thing, General, I'll try to keep the reports coming, but that new overlord up there has been vicious about keeping the local 'net locked down."

"Doing your best is all that we can ask, Castin," Jan smiled in that grandfatherly way of his.

Not for the first time, Mara thought Jan's smile was akin to the one her master had graced her with from time to time. _If only he wasn't a Rebel,_ she thought mournfully.

The gray-haired man walked to a more visible portion of the room, stroking his long, gray beard as he looked over the datapad he'd obtained from the slicer. "We've been able to confirm the information about the Battle of Endor and the massacre at the Imperial Palace. The Emperor, Darth Vader, Pestage, Isard—all have been confirmed dead. The second Death Star, the _Executor_ —destroyed."

Jan took a deep breath while he waited for the cheers to die down. He still looked tired and far too thin, but there was a brightness in his eyes that subtracted years from his appearance. Happiness, Mara decided, looked good on Jan even though the news and the Rebels' cheering made _her_ want to vomit.

Why couldn't they understand what her master had been doing for the galaxy? How could they _cheer_ at the death of the man trying to bring stability and peace to them? How could they cheer when so many had undoubtedly perished aboard the second Death Star? The first one had been fully completed and staffed with millions of Imperial personnel and if the second one was anything like the first, then how could they cheer for this news of mass murder? How could they cheer when looking outside showed the truth of what life would be like without the Empire?

Despite her anger at their thoughtlessness, Mara _did_ smile knowing that Isard wouldn't soil the universe with her virulent existence any longer. _One must always look on the bright side of things,_ she mused. Yet that one positive aspect did nothing to alleviate the sourness in her gut. How had her master not foreseen this? How had he dismissed the possibility of Vader betraying him?

Jan held up a hand until the din quieted. "A week after the battle, a small fleet of ships returned from Endor under the command of an Admiral Piett, who we know as the Flag Admiral of Death Squadron. We're unsure why he was transferred from the _Executor_ , but he retained his authority on board the _Chimaera_. Five days after the fleet's arrival, the attack on the Imperial Palace took place. Most of the garrison protecting the Imperial Palace was destroyed by a localized orbital bombardment that destroyed the barracks and the majority of the Palace's external aerial defense grid. The palace itself was left intact by the bombardment, however airstrikes carried out by Imperial assault craft destroyed the remaining weapon emplacements housed on the Palace itself."

Mara continued to listen to Jan in the back of her mind, but—her eyes narrowed in thought at the reference to Darth Vader's direct subordinate. Why had he been on the _Chimaera_? If not the _Executor_ , he would've been on the _Accuser._ She shook her head, confused at the odd move. Could Piett have assisted Vader in his treason somehow? From what she recalled of the Axxilan's profile, he didn't seem to have the temperament required for betraying someone like the Emperor, but Vader had a way of...convincing others to do his bidding. Perhaps the plot to destroy the Emperor did indeed extend beyond Skywalker and Vader; Mara made a mental note to look into that tidbit when she and the Rebels eventually parted ways.

"You think this 'Piett' was the architect of Pestage's assassination?" Akabi asked, "maybe to prop himself up?"

"To your first question, Jin-Rio, that would be my assumption, given the timing and the orbital bombardment. As for the second..."

"Not a chance in hell," Castin supplied at Jan's nod. "The moment the admiral secured Coruscant, he bugged out. Took his fleet and left. Exchanged a few of his most damaged ships with the _Victory_ s from the defense fleet, replaced the crew on the Golans with his own men and then took off to who knows where."

Mara's eyes widened. " _What_? That makes...what? Why?"

Castin arched an eyebrow at her. "Not a damn clue. They've kept that sweet bit of intel locked down tighter than a Toydarian's pocketbook."

"Castin," Jan chided the man disapprovingly.

The blonde man shrugged and grinned unrepentantly.

The elderly man shook his head. "Continuing where Castin left off, Admiral Piett's force departed less than two days after the attack on the palace took place. Things have become more...murky at this point. Castin?"

"Day after Piett left, _another_ fleet dropped out of hyperspace in the system. Apparently, they were expected because the fleet took up orbit without being challenged. The fleet was led by a Grand Admiral, one that I've neither seen nor heard of; in fact, so far as I can tell, _nobody_ knows of this guy," Castin replied, frowning unhappily.

 _No slicer likes being left in the dark, they consider a personal affront._ Mara thought to herself, amused at the sullen indignation in the hacker's voice. "Do we know his name?"

"We haven't a clue what is his name is; we've only ever been able to get eyes on him _once_ when he came down to the Imperial Palace. Aside from the few hours he spent there, he's spent the rest of his time off-world and out of sight. The weird thing is, he seems to have all the credentials of a Grand Admiral: White uniform, autocratic bearing, looking like he'd happily throw babies off a cliff, the usual. But he must've been kept as some sort of dirty secret by the Emperor or somethin' to make it where he did."

"Castin?" Jan asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"He ain't _human_ , ya dig?" Castin replied, sounding as serious and somber as Mara had ever heard him. "I've never seen any race like his before, couldn't find one in any codex either. Whoever and whatever he is, the blue-skinned bastard is smart. Not just smart, ya know? But _wicked_ smart. The moment he arrived in-system he started consolidating his forces on the planet and within the system. He had this place locked down tight _quick._ "

Mara blew out a heavy breath, shaking her head. Now, she understood why Castin was impressed, and threatened, by this blue-skinned Grand Admiral of his. _Any_ Grand Admiral was someone to be wary of, but for a _nonhuman_ to reach that rank? He would have to be something extraordinary to gain such favor from the Emperor. No nonhuman could ever _pretend_ to be a Grand Admiral, it simply wasn't possible, therefore Castin had been entirely correct about the new Grand Admiral being kept a secret.

She knew her master kept secrets from her but she'd never heard so much as a whisper about this. Whoever he was, Mara needed to know how and _why_ he'd coordinated with Piett and possibly Vader.

"Then whose Star Destroyer just did a face plant on our doorstep?" Akabi snarled, waving a hand toward the destruction only a few klicks away.

Castin made another face. "Not entirely sure. A few hours before you escaped from the Lusankya, a _third_ fleet jumped into the system. This one wasn't quite so friendly and unlike the blue-skinned bastard's fleet, this fleet was led by a Super Star Destroyer. It spearheaded a fleet of 20 Star Destroyers, all _Victory_ s. The problem with identifying the commanding officer is that the name bounced by the SSD's transponder names it as the _Iron Fist,_ but we have no record—"

"The _Brawl_ ," Mara blurted, "under High Admiral Zsinj's command."

The room went quiet and Mara was suddenly on the receiving end of more than a few suspicious glares. _Be careful, Mara, mustn't spook the Rebels._

"How do you know, Mara?" Jan asked with a kind, yet unyielding voice.

Displaying the right amount of discomfort, vulnerability and confidence was key in situations like these, where she not only had to explain her knowledge of the Empire but impress upon them their _need_ to trust her, to keep her around. Nothing she'd said was secret, it simply hadn't been common knowledge and playing this off right _might_ give her access to information Jan had on Skywalker and the Alliance. Forcing herself to look appropriately aggrieved, she gave a huff of annoyance. "Zsinj was given command of the _Brawl_ sometime before Endor, and his _first_ command was also named _Iron Fist_." She waited a beat before glaring at those around her. "Look, I wasn't always a Rebel, alright? And I doubt the lot of you were, either. So yeah, I know some things. Castin, were those _Victory_ s red?"

Castin blinked. "Yes, all of them."

Mara snapped her fingers. "Crimson Command, also under Zsinj."

Jan met her gaze for a long moment, stroking his long beard before he nodded firmly. "Very well, Mara, however when we're finished here, I wonder if you might join Castin, myself, and a few others to compile our intelligence on the new players in the system, hmm?" Jan asked, eyes locked with hers.

 _Perfect._ "Sure, Jan, I don't mind sharing intel." _And just maybe I'll figure out who you are._

"In any case," Castin jumped in loudly, evidently annoyed at having been interrupted, "Zsinj, if you're correct, jumped in-system and started duking it out with the Grand Admiral. The battle has been going ever since."

"Shavit! How the kriff has the Grand Admiral managed to keep Zsinj at bay for this long?" Akabi wondered aloud. "The SSD could vape the entire Coruscant Defense Fleet by itself!"

Castin shrugged. "Couldn't tell you, lady, between the communications blackout and the new encryption both fleets are running, any attempt to slice in will probably be detected within 30 seconds tops. Like I said, Imps are being annoyingly tight-lipped—hard to fight a battle against a fleet that has the same basic encryption algorithms. Both fleets are having to adapt which is making _my_ job _kriffing_ hard. My guess, however, is that for our blue friend, "Grand" isn't just a way of making Admiral sound fancier."

"No matter how grand he is, that still doesn't explain how an understrength defense fleet, a handful of Golans, and whatever this Grand Admiral brought with him is still fighting it out with an SSD and a kriff-load of _Victory_ s," an older brown-haired man called out.

"I know little more than you at this point. Like I said, after the Grand Admiral arrived communication has been getting more and more restrictive. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing we can do now is get information the old-fashioned way and hope that the less evil wastoid wins," Castin replied grumpily.

"Thank you, Castin. For now, I want all of you to focus on getting stronger and recovering; Lusankya weakened us all and we'll be of no use to anyone if we fail to see to our needs. We'll be having dinner in two hours in the main hall," Jan declared. Catching Mara's eye, the older man nodded to a makeshift office he'd been using since their arrival.

Standing up from her crate, Mara allowed herself a moment to stretch before making her way forward. When she arrived at the doorway, Jan offered a kind smile before gesturing for her to go inside. Taking a quick breath, she quickly played her story again in her mind and walked inside. _Here goes nothing_.

* * *

 **Twenty-four days after BoE  
Bakur Memorial Building  
Salis D'aar, Bakura**

Admiral Firmus Piett sat in a plus, synthleather chair, staring across the length of the rich, dark-wooden conference table at the young man and woman gazing back at him unblinkingly. He took a moment to appraise his...opponents?...future leaders? The very uncertainty of their status was a keen reminder of the quandary the Empire had found itself in, a quandary that the Emperor's death had created and that his own actions had exacerbated. The mold that had been purposefully shaped by assassinations, plots, and subterfuge was now the lock that barred access to the throne, a lock that had only one key, a key that was distinctly Luke Skywalker-shaped. In Firmus Piett's mind, there was now only thing more frightening than the idea of Luke Skywalker becoming the Emperor: the possibility of Luke Skywalker _not_ becoming the Emperor.

All the plotting, all the assassins, all the bounty hunters, all of it done in order to construct a delicate framework that would lead Luke Skywalker, and only Luke Skywalker, to the throne. Anyone else wouldn't fit the mold and would shatter that framework, driving the Empire into bitter, internal conflict that they'd _never_ be able to rise above. They _needed_ Skywalker; the boy was the Empire's only hope.

Firmus glanced slightly to the left, to the woman who'd presumably be the driving force behind the diplomatic talks involving the Alliance. He'd seen Princess Organa in person before during his rare visits to the now defunct Imperial Senate, and she remained the striking, vivacious beauty she'd been then. Meeting her fiercely intelligent brown eyes, the admiral had little doubt that she still possessed the redoubtable resolve that'd made her one of the most persistent, outspoken critics of the Empire and the bane of its most ardent supports in the senate. Her formidable reputation and graceful appearance, all white clothing and elegant braids, served as a remarkable contrast for the young man sitting beside her whom he'd come so far to speak with.

Luke Skywalker, in his all black clothing complete with clipped lightsaber, _should've_ been far more intimidating simply for being the offspring of Darth Vader.

But he wasn't, not in the same way, at least.

He remembered the first time he'd seen Skywalker's holopicture and his disbelief that the smiling _boy_ was the pilot who'd destroyed the Death Star and attracted Vader's intense scrutiny. Yet had that image sported the eyes of the man in front of him now, he wouldn't have hesitated to accept the claim. The man in front of him looked as if he'd aged a decade in the last four years and held an air of maturity rare for one so young. Yet for all the solemnity with which the man now carried himself, his expression was startlingly open and his curiosity plain to see. Though the Princess hid it well, Firmus felt certain that she was as unnerved as he in the aftermath of the attempt on Skywalker's life, but Skywalker seemed remarkably unphased. It was _that_ which Piett found most intimidating, not some terrifying visage like that of his father's but the sense of calm that he emanated.

It would be easy to ascribe that calm as a disregard for his own safety or simple bravado, but having spent time with another Force user with a penchant for lightsabers, black clothing and inserting himself into dangerous situations, Piett knew better. Whatever the "Force" truly was, however beings like Lord Vader and Skywalker harnessed it, the effect it had upon them was made clear in their _otherness_. Whether it was the Force that contributed to Skywalker's demeanor or something else entirely, Piett desperately hoped it would endure through the coming trials and that the plan forged by Lord Vader would be one that Skywalker would accept.

Placing his hands on the table, Skywalker took an audible breath before meeting his gaze. "Well, Admiral, you requested this meeting, where would you like to start?" the young Jedi inquired.

Firmus opened his mouth and immediately closed it, grimacing. He shouldn't ask it, it wasn't important in the scheme of things but...

#

"Commander Skywalker...if you don't mind my asking, how is it that you came to be in possession of my old ship, the _Accuser_? Prior to our retreat from the system, we'd received a report that it'd received catastrophic hull damage and was in the process of evacuating."

Skywalker started at the question and felt the corners of his mouth quirk and glanced aside at Leia, who'd managed to contain her own reaction but for the glint in her eyes. "I'm afraid General Solo and Lieutenant Page are largely responsible for that, Admiral," he replied neutrally.

With a bland face, his sister elaborated, "they were able to board your ship in stolen uniforms, capture the bridge and activate the alarms."

"I...see." Piett's face was expressionless, but Luke didn't need the Force to know the man was both embarrassed and _pissed_. "And my crew?"

Leia's face softened at the concern in the admiral's question. Folding her hands upon the table in a way that mirrored Luke's, she met the Axxilan's gaze and said simply, "we let them go."

"What?" Piett couldn't help the startled squawk of surprise.

Seeing his sister offer the admiral a genuine smile, Luke nodded. "None of them, as far as we know, committed anything resembling a war crime during their tenure as part of your command. The Alliance doesn't really have the resources to keep prisoners of war, Admiral, and we aren't ones to engage in wanton slaughter."

 _Unlike the Empire._

It was left unsaid but heard all the same.

"We placed them, and most of the other captured Imperial personnel, on hobbled bulk freighters and sent them on a preset course to the Imperial base on Jerne in the Kanz sector," Luke continued. "They were scheduled to arrive on Jerne two days ago."

Piett let out a breath before letting out an undignified snort. "You really took my ship that easily?"

"Without firing a single shot," Leia confirmed, unable to hold back her smug smile any longer. "I understand you made an impression on the Imperial Navy by your handling of pirates and smugglers within the Ciutric Hegemony; you must know better than most the ingenuity that smugglers can employ when they set their minds to it."

"Yes, I am rather familiar with their ability to adapt," Piett admitted. He bowed his head for a moment before he gave them both a bow of his head. "Thank you for telling me of the _Accuser_ 's fate, Commander, Princess, I sincerely appreciate it. That being said, before we begin there are several more questions I feel compelled to ask in light of our current circumstances."

"Go ahead," Luke nodded, a gloved hand waving to prompt the Imperial officer.

"Did you possess any foreknowledge of what Lord Vader intended upon his death?" Piett asked soberly.

Luke felt the man's eyes bore into his, a silent demand made not for curiosity but reassurance. Shaking his head, Luke spread his hands wide and offered the admiral a helpless shrug. "Admiral, I had _no_ idea my father had designated me as his heir; the idea had never occurred to me."

"We've received numerous reports from the Core, all indicating that there is currently a massive...restructuring of the Imperial military command structure and bureaucracy underway. I include Emperor Pestage in that restructuring," Leia said carefully. "Would we be correct in our assumption that you, or Lord Vader, had something to do with that?"

Luke winced at the blunt question but kept his eyes on the admiral.

Piett leaned over the terrible, holding his sister's gaze without flinching away from the accusation. "Your Highness, the night before the battle, Lord Vader sent out a series of orders to be carried out in the event of his or the Emperor's death. His message to me, and Captain Pellaeon, included his acknowledgement of Luke as his son." Piett, still holding Leia's eyes, nodded firmly. "So yes, Your Highness, I'm the one primarily responsible for executing Lord Vader's will after his death though I am far from the only cog in this particular wheel. His plans were quite thorough despite seemingly hurried development."

"Our final task for Lord Vader was to secure the throne for his son," hissed the Noghri, who until that moment had remained absolutely silent and still in the corner by the door.

All three humans flinched.

"You were my father's..." Luke trailed off.

"We killed by his command," Meewalh finished, confirming Luke's assumption. "Many of those who died on Imperial Center did so at the hands of my kin."

"The Imperial Palace?" Leia guessed.

Meewalh nodded before falling silent, retreating back into the corner to resume her impersonation of a statue.

Exchanging a look with Leia, Luke felt sure they were both remembering the reports of the assassinations of high profile Imperials throughout the Core. Admiral Piett's claim and Meewalh's testimony explained it rather well: it had all been for _him_ at his father's behest. The possibility had occurred to them, of course, but having it confirmed by one of those responsible was jarring to say the least.

"Commander, I must know..." Piett faltered for a short moment before setting his shoulders. "How did Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader die and why were you on the Death Star?"

Luke was about to answer when Leia tapped on his leg, giving him a shake of her head when he glanced at her. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but leaned back to allow her to respond.

Leia placed steepled her fingers, face composed and eyes narrowed as she tilted her head to the side. Finally, she asked, "Why?"

Piett blinked. "Pardon?"

"You said that ' _you_ must know', Admiral. Why is that? Will knowing the events that occurred on the Death Star change any of your plans?"

For a long moment, the admiral said nothing while wearing a pensive expression. Eventually, he let out a gusty sigh and took off his cap, letting it rest on the table surface. He rubbed a hand over his weary face and met her eyes. "The Empire is in a precarious position, Your Highness, and though I have little doubt you're aware of that fact, I don't believe you understand exactly how precarious it truly is. Whatever the answer to my question may be, it will not alter my decision to follow Lord Vader's last commands. What it will alter, Your Highness, is my ability to defend that decision to others." Piett spread his hands wide in a silent appeal, "I am operating on faith alone, Princess Organa, and convincing others to follow Lord Vader's plan requires something more substantial."

Leia frowned at the man and had opened her mouth to respond when Luke rapped his knuckles on the table, catching their attention. "If you need to know, Admiral, I'll tell you, but I have to warn you that if you're looking for a reason other than faith to defend my father, you'll be disappointed. You see, it was my own faith in him that resulted in the Emperor's death."

#

Firmus sat back, listening to the tale Luke spun about Darth Vader, a man many believed to have had no heart, no empathy, who had sacrificed himself to save his son. If Piett hadn't been witness to the fervor with which Vader had pursued Skywalker and finally learning the reason _why_ , he'd likely have thought it nothing more than lies. He wasn't quite sure what to make of Skywalker's claim of Lord Vader "turning back from the dark side," but it wasn't the mysteries of the Force that he found more compelling. No, it was the knowledge that self-sacrifice, an attribute that had _never_ been ascribed to the Sith Lord, had been what spelled the end of the Emperor.

As it happens, Skywalker was dead wrong about his ability to use the story, thank the Gods. A prisoner of war, one who'd voluntarily cast his weapon aside, had been tortured in front of his own father, Lord Vader: the second most powerful man in the Empire. In such a stark scenario, it seemed a foregone conclusion that Vader would eventually turn upon the Emperor. If one delved more deeply, it became clear that the whole affair was so convoluted, so rooted in Force mysticism, that providing any sort of evidence of a conspiracy would be practically impossible. The Emperor had tortured Lord Vader's son, who'd surrendered himself into his custody, _in front of him_. Oh yes, _that_ was something he could use.

However, Skywalker's retelling had revealed other facts that upheld his position. It was Princess Organa who'd pointed out the usefulness of emphasizing certain aspects of Skywalker's tale in order to further cement his claim to the throne. Though unsubstantiated, the timeline of events and the remains of Lord Vader could marginally support Skywalker's claim that the Emperor had encouraged the boy to kill his father and take his place. Wasn't that an inherent acknowledgement of Luke's position within the Empire, however contingent and tenuous it might be?

Skywalker had been _very_ wrong about faith being the only thing he could offer.

Yet for some reason, what struck Firmus most about the story from a less practical viewpoint wasn't the Emperor's dark powers, his father's sacrifice, or Skywalker's surrender to the Empire, it was Skywalker giving his father the traditional Jedi funeral. It was a small thing, a sentimental thing, but a powerful one that made Piett feel just a little bit better about Skywalker's character.

After discussing the political points of Skywalker's account, they'd descended into an uncomfortable silence that'd lingered for several minutes. Skywalker and Organa both had an odd blend of sadness and anger in their eyes and seemed content to mull over the past while waiting for Piett to break the stillness of the room. Piett used that time to gather all the courage he possessed so that he might speak his next words, entirely aware of the import they held for the galaxy. "Commander Skywalker, there is no Empire without an Emperor. You are the sole heir to the Empire, the only one with any legitimate claim to the throne, and you are the _only_ person that has a reasonable chance of preventing the Empire from falling into an even greater chaos."

Skywalker and the Princess looked at each other, looking as though they were having an entire conversation with nothing but their eyes.

The admiral frowned inwardly. Was it too soon to bring up the topic of heirs? The Princess's relationship with General Solo and Skywalker had long been a source of amusement and debate within the Empire's intelligence community and, to his knowledge, there had never been a declared couple. If the Empire were truly becoming a dynasty, as it seemed to be, then Skywalker would need an heir to grant the reassurance and promise of stability to the Empire in the event of his passing. Piett slapped himself mentally. _That's right, Firmus, put the weight of the Empire on his shoulders and then inform him that he needs to go forth and multiply so that the Empire survives when an assassin finally blasts him into atoms._

Skywalker chose that moment to turn around and face him, and Piett held his breath, waiting for the words that would decide the future of the galaxy, one way or another.

"Admiral," Skywalker began solemnly, "the Princess is _not_ my lover."

The Princess choked on air, placing a hand over her mouth as she began coughing violently while Piett sat stock-still, unsure of how to process the statement beyond the initial surge of embarrassment. On one hand, Piett had witnessed Lord Vader's ability to read and influence minds on more than one occasion; he supposed it shouldn't be all that surprising to learn that his son shared that talent. The second, and far more pleasant realization was learning that he was in a position to win a truly outrageous sum of money in the Solo-Organa-Skywalker betting pool Imperial Intelligence had so quietly established.

Letting out a soft, sad-sounding sigh, Skywalker continued, "I think there's much for us to discuss if I am to go with you, Admiral, this can't be a simple process."

"A starting point would be determining how the Alliance fit into Lord Vader's plan," the Princess informed him, raising her chin defiantly. "And if we weren't a consideration, then you must know the Alliance won't simply go away. We will resist, no matter who the Emperor is, so long as the rights and freedoms of sentient beings across the galaxy are violated in the most egregious of ways."

Piett restrained himself from rubbing his temples as a tension headache flared into existence. _It was going to be a long afternoon._

* * *

 **Twenty-four days after BoE  
Bakur Memorial Building  
Salis D'aar, Bakura**

"Wedge?"

"Wedge? Everything all right?"

Wedge started in surprise as a hand clamped onto his shoulder and gave him a rough shake. Looking over the back of his repulsor chair, he found himself meeting the concerned gaze of Tycho Celchu. He took a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through his hair before he finally nodded. "Just...found out some things from the Baron."

Tycho narrowed his eyes. "What'd he say? I can get Judder to make it look like an accident, just say the word."

Wedge gave a weak laugh and waved a hand in a calming gesture. "I just received some news, amazing news. Mostly, at least."

Tycho stepped around the chair until he stood facing Wedge, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at him expectantly.

Wedge rolled his eyes at the woebegone expression on the Alderaanian's face as Tycho attempted to guilt the information out of him. He needn't have bothered, for this news, he would happily tell his friends. "My sister, Syal—she's alive, Tycho!" he breathed, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face. "I never knew what happened to her, thought she'd died, honestly. Turns out she managed to do what she'd always dreamed of doing: acting. In fact, you've probably even heard of her stage name," Wedge grinned.

Tycho shook his head, "I don't watch a lot of holo—"

"Wynssa Starflare."

"Sithspit!" Tycho gaped at him. "You're saying...your sister is _the_ Wynssa Starflare?"

"Baron Fel was kind enough to provide pictures of her, including ones of my nephews," Wedge murmured, voice softening as he remembered the image of the toddlers being embraced by his sister on Soontir Fel's projector.

"Colonel Fel? Wait, isn't he..." Tycho's words died and his face screwed up into an expression that usually indicated either bewilderment or a severe case of constipation; with the rations Han had provided on the _Falcon_ , it was 50/50.

"And there's where the _mostly_ amazing news comes in. Turns out your old boss is my new brother-in-law," Wedge huffed, understanding Tycho's expression all too well.

Tycho winced in sympathy, but one side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile just a moment later. "To be fair, Wedge, I'm not sure you have much room to complain; I think Luke has pretty much cornered the market share on unwelcome surprise additions to one's family."

"Zing!" Wedge nodded approvingly and glanced at the door where Luke, the Princess, and the admiral were _still_ doing whatever they were doing. Glancing around the quiet senate chamber, he nudged Tycho's leg with his own. "What's with the clone?"

Tycho looked over his shoulder at the crowd that had gathered around one of the stormies, the commander of the squad Piett had brought with him. Tycho watched as the assembled group burst into laughter as the clone waved his hands about in frantic motions, telling a story of some kind. "Let's go find out, Lando and Han look positively enthralled."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** New chapter will be coming out soon, within the week most likely. As a helpful note to any aspiring writers out there hoping to write length stories, I've learned from writing Thor's Slayers that the greatest obstacles in such an endeavor are (1) not getting burned out: if you can't be interested in your own writing, you can't expect anyone else to be ether and (2) not losing focus. As a story increases in length and complexity, it becomes easier to get side-tracked by subplots, repeating conversations and forgetting who knows what and who said what to whom, and simply losing your own sense of where the story's heading.

Discussion point(s) for the day: Balance within the Force/The Chosen One:  
The Chosen One: I talk about this as a literary device rather than how it applies to Star Wars specifically. I absolutely _despise_ the idea of there being a "Chosen One." For its value in storytelling, I understand the draw and some authors/directors _can_ pull it off but I do _not_ think that it translates onto the big screen. In literature, the whole idea can be better fleshed out, but in visual media (particularly films rather than TV) it seems to get in the way of the plot or muddy the ending of the story. Whether it's Neo, Anakin Skywalker, or Harry Potter, I just don't like it. I'm sure I just enraged a bunch of people but I'd ask that if you want to specifically respond to _this,_ send a PM instead of posting a review because it has nothing to do with the story. Caveat: As I said, it _does_ work sometimes, for example Buffy, Wheel of Time, Dune...

Also, the final episode of the Clone Wars, one of the things that weird spirit on Moraband/Korriban said to Yoda was "...balance...there is another Skywalker..." This adds additional credence to the argument of Luke being the Chosen One, rather than Anakin. *shrug*

Balance in the Force: So, what does this mean? From what I can determine, nobody has a clue. The way Obi-Wan seemed to think, the Chosen One would destroy the Sith thereby bringing balance to the Force. This _seems_ to be the common perception of the role and yet there seems to be an inherent flaw in that idea; the Sith are not the dark side and they are certainly not the only group that practices the dark side (Sorcerers of Tuund (sort of), Prophets of the Dark Side, Sorcerers of Rhand, Nightsisters of Dathomir, etc).

From what I understand, in the entire history of the galaxy there has only been one time when the Force could arguably be said to be in balance. That was during the time of the Je'daii Order almost 26,000 BBY. However, unlike the Jedi, the balance of the Je'daii was not to stay firmly entrenched in the light, but to, you guessed it, stay balanced between the light and the dark. Any Je'daii who fell too far in _either_ direction would be exiled to meditate until they came back into balance. Eventually, a group of these Je'daii broke off and formed the Sith...and well, you know where that led. But that _seems_ to be the closest the Force ever came to being in true balance. I don't think there's a chance in hell that the Jedi Order of the Old Republic could _ever_ adopt such a philosophy. So how could Anakin, or anyone for that matter, truly bring balance to the Force? I don't think it's possible, not for any extended amount of time at least.

/Rant for the day


	8. Chapter Seven

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thank you everyone for the information on Rex, I hadn't realized that the story had been as substantiated as it was. Despite this revelation, I still don't have any plans to include him in the story. I'm not saying I won't add him _ever_ , but I don't think he has much of a place in the story. Cody won't have much of a presence either, though it's likely that I'll be adding references to him/name-dropping as the story progresses.

The end of this chapter will mark a turning point in the story. While this chapter consists _almost_ entirely of dialog, there is a clear direction that the story will be moving in upon its conclusion.

* * *

 **###**

 **(Wedge Antilles)** : _"Sithspit! What's that?"_  
 **(Wes Janson)** : _"That's the sun, Wedge. It's after dawn."_  
 **(Wedge Antilles)** : _"Well, it offends me. Turn it off."_  
 **(Wes Janson)** : _"It's one-thirty, one-forty million klicks away from here."_  
 **(Wedge Antilles)** : _"Go up in your X-wing and shoot it down."_  
 **(Wes Janson)** : _"Wedge, stop acting like a little kid. You're embarrassing me."_

 **#**

 **Twenty-five days after BoE  
Salis D'aar, Bakura**

Leia cupped Han's face in her hands and kissed him fiercely, feeling his lips move in sync with her own as they pressed against one another. Her desire to remain pressed together so intimately soon gave way to a greater, more urgent need. She released his face, both hands descending to grip at his vest as their kiss intensified. It was the kind of kiss that held the promise of something so much sweeter if she could just get his karking clothes off. She'd _almost_ managed to get his damn vest removed until the thumb running over her breast stilled her hand. Hearing his husky chuckle, Leia considered inflicting pain upon her lover for his impudence but quickly disregarded the notion when his hand moved lower and the thumb stroked just...

She gasped.

"Off!" she ordered, fisting her hands in his black vest and giving it a sharp tug.

He obeyed wordlessly, practically tearing it from his chest even as she grabbed his belt, working it loose with trembling fingers. Han began unbuttoning his shirt as she hurriedly shrugged off her own jacket and kicked off her boots. Still mostly clothed, she immediately flowed back to him, pulling his face down so that their lips could once again meet. She continued kissing him, taking his bottom lip between her teeth to nibble on. Han hissed, and she felt him reach down to divest himself of his suddenly restrictive pants. Once his pants had finally fallen from his waist, one hand went to cup her cheek while the other moved to stroke the part of her most in need of his attention. Their mouths still fused together, their fierce kiss was a lingering, wild thing that stole their breaths away.

Leia pulled back with a gasp, letting her head fall back as he kissed along the curve of her neck while his hands alternated between caressing her and working at the fastenings of her uniform. It was almost a tease, this slow reveal of her body that he reveled in, and though she was far more impatient this night, she allowed him the time to slowly back her toward their bed in the borrowed suite. Letting out an inarticulate sound of pleasure, she ran a hand through his soft, brown hair as his hand ran under her tunic to cup her breast, fingers teasing the tight bud that _throbbed_ so pleasurably.

One hand still running stroking his hair, she put her other arm around him, urging him toward her, toward the inviting bed that lay just beyond her. Another low chuckle escaped him and she murmured his name, half in chastisement and half in love. Force, did she love this man; she'd never be able to express just how much she loved this man, this maddening, arrogant, scoundrel of a man. She just felt—

—she felt. A feeling...she'd felt it before...she felt—

Frowning, Leia opened her eyes, looked past Han's shoulder and _screamed_.

Many things happened at once then, a sudden flurry of activity that she completely ignored. Han, startled by her cry of fright, spun around to confront whatever it was that'd frightened her. With his pants half undone and hanging around his knees, this had the result of him tripping over himself and tipping onto the floor with flailing arms. There was a loud, crashing noise that came from beyond the bedroom, followed by the sight of a Noghri dashing inside, large sicklelike weapon in hand. Without a moment of hesitation, it swiftly dashed toward her, pushing her so as to place a wall at her back while he took a protective stance in front of her, hissing as he examined the room for any hint of a threat. Seeing only Han, the Noghri bared its teeth and took a step forward.

Leia's attention, however, was neither on Han, who'd hastily pulled his pants up and was scrambling for his blaster pistol from the dresser top, nor on the armed Noghri, who'd managed to break into her room and get within striking distance in a disturbingly short amount of time. No, it was the Force ghost hovering between her and Han that had captured her attention, a familiar and very unwelcome spirit.

The spirit, a young man with wavy, shoulder-length hair and clad in the brown Jedi robes she'd seen in her father's holopics, wore a sheepish, embarrassed expression. And yet...and yet, there was a hint of smug satisfaction in his eyes that couldn't be disguised. Leia hissed, unable to properly articulate the enraged words that were pent up inside of her.

 _"You!"_ she glared at the spirit, knuckles white with the tension of her clenched fists.

Han, who was now armed and dressed, sans vest, looked alarmed as he followed Leia's gaze past him. With the only object behind him being the dresser, he pointed a finger at himself and shot her a worried look. "Me?"

Leia looked through Anakin Skywalker's ethereal form to meet Han's gaze. "No," she snapped.

Without abandoning his position or glancing over his shoulder, the Noghri let out a rumbling growl. "I smell no threat here, Lady Vader. I know what a scream of terror sounds like; what is it that's disturbed you? Does this male need to be removed?"

Han, caught between pointing his blaster at the Noghri's unexpected presence and at whatever nameless, invisible thing that had attracted Leia's ire, hesitated. His hesitation turned into a stunned silence, a stillness engendered by the sudden comprehension of how the Noghri had chosen to address Leia.

"Force thing, Han," she replied angrily, her baleful gaze locked onto the spirit's form.

"What? Now? But it was just getting good!" Han exclaimed. With a sigh, he lowered his pistol and moved to stand beside her, pointedly ignoring the protective form of the Noghri. Though their unlikely protector's hiss sent a shiver down his spine, Han focused his attention on Leia, running a soothing hand down her back.

Leia, despite her anger, blushed at Han's blunt words, but the reaction of Anakin Skywalker's ghost wasn't nearly so tame.

 _"By the Force, you really went to Jabba's to rescue this cretin? Have you no sense!? Do you even know what that slug would've done to you? I blame your brother for this, he should've known better than to allow you to put yourself in such danger. Bail Organa would be rolling in his grave right now if he saw you with this...this...Corellian!"_ the Force spirit roared.

Han, of course, didn't so much as blink, unable to hear the Force ghost's enraged words and was still trying to capture her attention with a light shake of her shoulder

Leia's mouth dropped open and rage boiled within her. Shoving Han and the startled Noghri aside, she jabbed a finger in the spirit's direction. "Do not _dare_ speak my father's name! You have _no_ right to be here, Vader! I told you I didn't want you here and if I want to kriff Han, or every man and woman on the planet, then it's my choice and you have no say in it!" Leia shouted.

 _"I am your father,"_ Anakin told her sternly. _"Of course, I get a say."_

Taking another step forward, Leia jabbed the air again with a finger. With a snarl, she snapped, "the only father I have is Bail Organa, the most honorable and decent man that I've ever known, whom you and your _precious_ Empire destroyed along with the rest of Alderaan. _He_ was my father! You? You're just a bad memory that lingers like a foul smell."

"Ah. _Ah_...one of _those_ Force things," Han concluded, nodding solemnly. His expression was that of a man torn between wanting to run away and wanting to grab a snack to eat while watching the drama play out. Choosing to make the wiser choice, Han coughed and gave her a wave. "I'll give you and the old man some time and you'll excuse me if I ask you _not_ to 'kriff every man and woman on the planet' just so you can stick it to Mr. Dark and Gloomy."

Leia turned to Han and growled.

Han's eyebrows rose and his mouth quirked. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was just enough to raise Leia's hackles and Han damn well knew it. _The bastard still thinks he's getting lucky tonight_ , Leia thought with an inward, humorless chuckle. As entertaining as their sex was when they were both riled up, the idea of Vader watching them made Luke's ongoing transformation into a celebrate hermit look downright appealing. In her peripheral vision, Leia observed her lover tapping the Noghri's shoulder and nodding to the door, murmuring something as they exited the suite.

"Why are you here?" Leia hissed, the moment the door had closed. "I told you to stay away. Go disappear, go poof!"

The spirit of Anakin Skywalker froze and suddenly looked embarrassed. " _Look, I know you don't want to see me, you made that clear the last time I came. But..._ " Anakin trailed off, the sheepish expression becoming more apparent on his blue, shimmering visage. The ghost looked down and mumbled something.

"What?"

" _I said I lost a bet_ ," Anakin replied, crossing his arms defensively.

Leia stared at him.

"You're dead, Vader, who are you making bets with and on _what?"_ Leia demanded.

The spirit mumbled another string of unintelligible words, looking even more embarrassed.

"This time in proper Basic, please," Leia growled. "Honestly, you were a Sith Lord, spit it out already."

Anakin blew out an aggravated breath. " _Master Yoda, Obi-Wan and I placed bets on when the first assassination attempt on Luke would be. My being here is the price for losing that bet_."

Looking aghast, Leia's face turned red with anger as she spread her arms wide in exasperation. "You were _betting_ on when someone would try to kill your own son? What the kriff is wrong with you!?"

The ghost shook his head frantically. " _It wasn't my idea, it was Obi-Wan's! And you should be thankful it's me, by the way, Luke's receiving a visit from the troll. Yoda said that he'd teach Luke something useful, but I'm not holding my breath._ "

Leia stared at him, her face twisting in a sour expression. "Did you manifest here, at that time, for the sole purpose of driving Han away?" Leia asked, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

" _No!_ " Anakin hastily denied.

Hearing the obvious 'yes' in the response, Leia glared at the blueish spirit. "So, can you leave yet?"

The Force ghost shook his head, " _Obi-Wan will tell me when. Until then, Daughter, you're stuck with me_."

"I'm not your—" Leia made herself stop, groaning in frustration. "Fine, then let's start with this. Why did you do this to Luke? How can you possibly think making him the Emperor is wise?" she finally asked. The whiplash of emotions she'd felt in the last few minutes were taking a toll on her, leaving her feeling drained. Yet, as her mind cleared itself of the lingering desire, the rage and the pain, her ability to appreciate the benefits of the spirit's presence grew. "Please tell me you didn't consider it a 'gift' that he might enjoy."

" _No, of course not._ " The ghost of Anakin Skywalker edged closer until he sat on the edge of the bed, no more than a meter away from her.

That mere was far too close for Leia's taste, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her retreat.

" _I've never been a firm believer in the Republic, Daughter, not even as a Jedi, fighting to defend it during the Clone Wars. Even now, the idea of the Empire appeals to me and Luke... Luke represents a chance to turn it into something good, something that might make up for the shortfalls of both Palpatine's dark empire and the Republic's corruption and ineffectiveness. He deserves happiness and so much more, and I'm aware that this path I've set him upon is one filled with hardship. But this is something—_ "

"You're choosing his destiny for him—"

" _His destiny has been mapped out since he was an infant, Leia, both his_ and _yours. Never were your destinies your own._ " Anakin breathed out harshly, shoulders slumping. " _And that's_ my _fault._ "

Leia stared at the spirit for a moment. "You weren't acting this way the last time you manifested."

Anakin rolled his eyes. " _The last time I was trying to be someone I'm not, someone I thought you might be willing to accept. The man before you is the man I've always been."_

"Sure, if you're willing to forget 20-year hiatus you spent destroying the Jedi, murdering children, destroying planets and—" Leia closed her mouth with a snap, shaking her head in frustration. Bickering like this was beneath her and _he_ wasn't worth it.

" _Yes, aside from that,"_ Anakin whispered, looking down to avoid her gaze.

"Why did General Kenobi want you to speak with me?" Leia asked when the awkward silence became unbearable.

" _Until you make some sort of peace with me, or your heritage, you'll never be able to be trained in the ways of the Force. While your control of your emotions is impressive, it is not control that allows a Jedi to find the serenity needed to remain grounded within the light side of the Force."_

"I have no desire to become a Jedi," Leia grated, "that is Luke's path, not mine. I've made that clear, repeatedly."

" _Luke's path will not be so simple as that, Leia, and you know that, I think. I believe him to be capable of ruling the Empire justly, but doing so will require him to find a different kind of balance within himself. His duties will not grant him the freedom and time necessary to begin instructing a new generation of Jedi; he_ needs _you, Leia."_ Anakin looked at her with a discomforting intensity a pleading look that made her want to turn away. Seeming to mull over his own words, his words continued hesitatingly. _"You do not have to become a Jedi to learn the ways of the Force, but you_ must _learn those ways. The Force will always be there, Leia, and those untrained and unaware are particularly susceptible to falling under the sway of the dark side. There will always be a need for the Jedi, if for no other reason than to counter those who've fallen to the dark side."_

The spirit lifted a hand, looking as if he wanted to touch her but he hurriedly dropped it when she shifted away. " _Luke will be there to guide you, but the responsibility for restoring the Order now falls upon you both. I know this isn't what you wanted—"_

"And how could you possibly know what I want?" Leia asked scornfully. She might've said more had he not given her the saddest smile she'd ever seen. It made her stop and really _look_ at the man next to her, the man who'd enslaved a galaxy, the man who'd saved her brother.

" _You may find it hard to believe, Leia, but I know more about young, passionate female royalty turned obstinate, idealistic senators than you could possibly imagine."_ Anakin's words were thick, almost choked out with an overpowering sense of regret that required no sense of Force-sensitivity to feel. Taking a deep breath, he continued, " _we all have our own path to take, but never think that the Force won't be guiding you, whispering to you. Do you think it chance that the droids carrying the Death Star plans just happened to be captured by Jawas, just happened to be sold to the Lars family whose deaths left the droids and plans in Luke's possession? Luke, the pilot who shot the Death Star, the pilot whose identity changed_ everything. _Never believe, Leia, that the Force is merely a tool to be used; it is_ so _much bigger than you can possibly imagine."_

* * *

 _"Smaller."_

Luke let out a small breath and pictured himself, the _essence_ within him shrinking.

" _Smaller_."

Frowning, Luke furrowed his brow and focused on the image of his presence and made it even smaller, as small as Yoda himself."

There was a quiet 'harrumph.' " _Smaller."_

Luke smiled, hearing the irritated and aggrieved note in his master's voice. His focus wavered but he cleared his mind and _concentrated_. He pictured his presence becoming smaller, the size of a pebble, now.

 _"Smaller."_

Then he was the size of a molecule. It was too much; he lost sight of himself then, lost the image he'd conjured and with it his new understanding and appreciation for the complexities of the Force. He started anew, the dozenth time he'd attempted to follow Yoda's instructions and reach the "smallness" his former master had demanded. An indeterminable amount of time passed before he'd once again captured his own essence and focused upon it, molded it and shrank it until it was that molecule-sized speck of himself that glowed with the Force.

He took a deep, calming breath, holding it in for a count of five before breathing it out in a long exhalation. He focused on his essence, on that part deep within him and shrank it even further. Now it was the size of an atom and he gritted his teeth with the effort of trying to hold the shape of something shapeless on a level of existence he'd never truly imagined. Another long exhalation of breath and he felt something within him unknot, his presence within the Force shaping to his will, diminishing to something microscopic, something nearly undetectable.

" _With focus and patience, a powerful skill this is."_

Luke slowly opened his eyes to meet the serene gaze of his master, forehead beading with sweat as he focused on the atom that was his own essence. Once, Luke might've been tempted to dismiss Yoda's claim or to demand an immediate clarification on Yoda's cryptic explanation. After everything he'd been through, after all that he'd learned about himself and about the Force, Luke was able to hold back and consider Yoda's words.

"Was this how the Emperor kept himself hidden from the Jedi?" he finally asked.

Yoda nodded gravely. " _Many ways of concealing one's presence, there are. This one, among others, he_ _used_." Yoda's ears sagged with the weight of past mistakes and regret. _"A cunning and powerful Sith, Darth Sidious had become. Possessed a singular mastery for deception and stealth, he did_."

Yoda adding nothing more, just continued to stare at him expectantly with those ageless eyes.

"Healing," Luke blurted. "it can help heal, it's how I was able to find those parasites Nereus had infected me with."

Yoda tapped his gimer stick on the floor with an affirmative grunt; it was still the intimidating gesture it'd been on Dagobah and Luke fought the urge to rub his shin, despite knowing that the stick lacked physical form. " _Very good, young Skywalker, very good. Allowed you to find a wrongness within yourself, it did, but a form of attack, it can be too_ ," the diminutive Jedi added, words quiet and caution.

Luke's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

" _Focusing on yourself, your essence, to manipulate, you have begun to master. Upon others, this skill may also be used. Delve deep within another and manipulate their body, you may. A difficult task, this is and one that treads upon the dark side._ "

The very idea of being able to reach _into_ someone else and disable or kill them made Luke shiver. The concept of using the Force to incapacitate someone was nothing new; he himself had used it to choke the Gamorrean guards at Jabba's palace into unconsciousness. But this was something very different, not some blunt application of the Force to restrict someone's windpipe, rather it was an internal manipulation of the body itself. With enough time and focus, could he manipulate the air within the person's blood to create an embolism? Pinch a vital artery shut? Stop the beating of someone's heart or even prevent the blood within their veins from flowing?

 _Kreth!_ Luke shivered again at the idea of using this new skill in such a manner. Master Yoda's warning was well understood; the power it granted over others would be a dangerous lure for the dark side.

" _More applications in combat, there are, young Skywalker. With discipline and great focus, a defense against attacks of the mind, it can be."_

Yoda paused and Luke didn't need prompting to know that his master expected him to work out the issue as he had before. This had been a fundamental aspect of Yoda's lessons on Dagobah; Yoda would impart an idea, a concept, give him the barest details of the process and let him run with it. It was about belief, it'd _always_ been about belief. The moment Master Yoda had raised his X-Wing from the waters of Dagobah and revealed that his lack of faith, self-confidence, and _belief_ had been the reason for his failure, something had clicked within him. That lesson continued to carry him forward in learning the ways of the Force.

The physical application of this "Art of the Small" that Yoda was teaching him hadn't been difficult to grasp, not in light of his brush with the skill above Bakura with the parasites, but what Yoda suggested...

After more than an hour of fruitless meditation on the idea, Luke finally opened his eyes and gave his master a helpless look.

Yoda sighed. _"Limited training of the mind, you possess. My own fault, this is."_

Luke opened his mouth to object when Yoda scowled at him, soundlessly banging the floor with his gimer stick again. He closed his mouth with a snap.

 _"Altering the minds of the weak-minded, sensing the emotions of others, basic skills they are. Many forms of mental attack, there are. Those most subtle, often the greatest danger, they are. Those that rely on force, to damage, to kill, to incapacitate, also dangerous, but easily detectable, they are."_ Yoda once again fell silent, waiting.

"This skill would provide protection from the latter," Luke said slowly.

" _Perceive a mental attack as a great hand reaching for you and easily evaded if small you become, yes? A similar lesson my foes learned when my defeat by lightsaber, they sought._ " Yoda gave one of those cackling laughs that used to make Luke question the Jedi Master's sanity.

" _A powerful skill, this is, young Skywalker. Meditate, focus, and feel the Force, Luke, and no master will you ever need to teach you what your meditations cannot_ ," Yoda told him gravely.

Luke snorted. "That's a load of bantha fodder."

Yoda gave another mad cackle. _"A teacher, I am, young Skywalker. A crutch, I am not. Teach you many things, I may, but more must you learn for yourself."_

"I will _do_ this, Master," Luke smiled. "I will see the Jedi returned."

Yoda smiled, ears pricking upright _. "Believe that, I do. Always will the Force be with you, my apprentice."_

The specter of the Jedi Master slowly faded from sight, leaving Luke alone in a bedroom that now felt darker and lonelier. He sighed as a pang of melancholy rang through him at the loss of his master. Yoda may have physically perished more than a month ago, but seeing him become one with the Force was proving to be just as painful the second time.

Easing from his sitting position, he made his way through the darkness and collapsed his bed. He reminded himself to ask Leia about the shouting he'd heard earlier, but the thought slipped away from his grasp as his exhausted mind descended into oblivion.

* * *

 **The next morning**

Han huffed out a laugh, pointing a fork at the yawning, shambling form that'd just emerged from the adjacent bedroom. "You look like crap," Han observed cheerfully.

"So, does the _Falcon_ but you don't see me teasing you," Luke mumbled, making his way toward the large, marbled glass dining table. He promptly took a seat, groaned, and let his head drop onto the table. Hearing Leia's snort of amusement, he slowly raised it back up to glare at her. He contemplated making a snide comment but abandoned it both out of a healthy sense of self-preservation as well as the distraction provided by the food arrangement he'd only now noticed. Eyes fastening onto a plate of fresh namana pastries that Gaeri _must_ have had brought up to them, he picked one up and eagerly took a bite. If she'd been present, Luke would've asked Gaeri to marry him then and there and damn the consequences.

"So, you had a visitor?" Leia inquired. Sitting opposite Luke, she stared at him as she spoke in a tone that was a little _too_ calm before setting her glass of tea upon the table with a little _too_ much force.

Luke's body stilled, the pastry he'd grabbed hanging in midair, mere centimeters away from his mouth as his eyes met those of his sister's. "I'm guessing I wasn't the only one," he finally said and took a moment to gauge his sister's mood. Hurt, confused and angry brown eyes was all he needed to understand. "Father came to visit you again?"

Leia scowled, her expression the only confirmation she'd offer and the only one that was needed.

"Ah," he said lamely, unable to find anything else to say that wouldn't irritate his sister further. Giving her a weak smile, he tentatively offered, "Master Yoda came to visit me."

"I know," Leia snarled, "apparently they were on the losing end of a bet on when someone would first try to kill you."

"Ah." A man of great eloquence, that was him.

Han chuckled. "Your family is _delightful,_ kid."

Leia swung her head toward Han with near comical slowness before she kicked Han's shin with her bare foot. Han shrugged unapologetically, popping a piece of fruit in his mouth. They spent a few moments in silence, eating and ruminating on the evening's events. Han and Luke exchanged a glance establishing an unspoken, mutual agreement to _not_ bring up Anakin Skywalker in the immediate future.

"So, what are we going to do today?" the Corellian asked, unable to tolerate the silence that was stretching dangerously close to the "awkward" stage.

"The same thing we do every day, Han, try to take over the galaxy," Luke replied with a tired half-smile. "We just have a little more firepower backing us up now. Supposedly."

"I'll throw myself in a sarlacc before I bow and call you 'Your Majesty', fair warning," Han warned, shaking a finger. "1000 years of being digested has nothing on bowing to a kid who still has an unhealthy fascination with water and spends most of his time thinking about his _feelings_."

"Han!" Leia smacked Han's arm, scowling at her lover.

"I don't _ever_ want you to do that, Han," Luke said quietly. Suddenly feeling nauseous, Luke put his food down and looked away. "And I _really_ don't want this."

"Aw, kid," Han offered him an apologetic smile. "I know, I'm sorry."

"We both know you don't want this, Luke, and so does your father—" Leia began but was interrupted.

" _Our_ father, Leia," Luke challenged.

"Not now, kid," Han muttered.

Leia's lips thinned. " _He_ knows you don't want this, but _he_ thinks you're one of the few that can. Mon was right; if the Empire fractured apart, it'd merely be a matter of time until the Alliance rose in its place, but a _lot_ of people would be hurt if we had to do it system after system, sector after sector. _He_ thinks that if you can pull this off, you can save a lot of lives, keep the infrastructure from collapsing, and mold the Empire into something the Alliance could work with."

Luke bowed his head, eyes cinched shut. "I'm not really sure I—" He made himself stop, shaking his head in frustration.

"Hey!" Han burst out. "That reminds me! Speaking of Darth Dad, you wouldn't _believe_ the stories Piett's clonetrooper has of your father and Kenobi! Commander Cody used to work directly for Kenobi; just let me tell you about Cato Neimoidia!"

* * *

 **Three hours later**

"To what extent can you speak for the Alliance, Your Highness? Do you have the authority to negotiate on their behalf?" Admiral Piett asked, glancing across the table at the white-gowned profile of Leia Organa.

"I can negotiate for the Alliance, Admiral; any agreement we make here will be binding," Leia replied calmly.

Both Piett and Leia turned to Luke.

Luke sat still, eyes closed. Taking a deep breath, he reached out, letting the Force infuse him searching for its guidance. _Is this the right thing to do?_ he thought, hoping to receive some sort of sign, some sort of reassurance that he wasn't going to make a terrible mistake.

 _"I have faith in you, my son."_

Luke let the whisper linger in his mind, savoring the rich sound of his father's voice before opening his eyes. Giving the Imperial officer a steady look, he nodded slowly. "Yes, Admiral, I'll go back with you to Coru—Imperial Center. I will accede to your request and accept my father's will."

Piett's expression didn't change, but Luke felt the man's relief intermixed with dread upon his agreement. Luke _almost_ sympathized for him, but just the sight of the man's olive-green uniform was a reminder of his new future.

The Axxilan admiral breathed out slowly. "It would be better if we departed sooner, rather than later, Commander Skywalker. Imperial Center is now a contested system and I should like to have my fleet there to defend it. I know little of the man your father left to command its defense, only that Lord Vader respected him in a way he did few others. But however capable that man may be, the lure of an empty throne will continue to attract others and he can prevail for only so long."

"Who did Lord Vader leave in command?" Leia wondered.

"Thrawn. Grand Admiral Thrawn."

* * *

 **Twenty-one days after BoE  
Aboard the _Imperial I_ -Class Star Destroyer _Admonitor_  
Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

"I do not like this idea of fleeing," Captain Dagon Niriz growled.

His first officer grimaced, but said nothing, staring at the holoprojection of the system as if to divine a solution to their predicament.

"That would be because you're thinking with your pride, my good captain," a cold voice answered. "If you believe that I have somehow surrendered to what Admiral Zsinj perceives as inevitable, then you are sorely mistaken."

"There aren't many safe hyperspace routes from this part of the system, not with the asteroid cloud and the damn moons' mass shadows," Captain Voss Parck observed. Nodding slowly, he raised an eyebrow at the Grand Admiral. "By coming here, you trap us in the system but also force him to come to us."

"If we were simply to retreat into the safety of hyperspace, Admiral Zsinj would let us go without so much as a second glance. By remaining here, our presence remains a constant threat which might strike whenever his back is turned. We are, therefore, an enemy to be hunted." Steepling his blue fingers and gazing at the projection through narrowed red eyes, Grand Admiral Thrawn let out a satisfied sigh at the movement of the projected ships.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo, or Thrawn to those outside of the Ascendancy, raised a single blue-black eyebrow at his captain. "Zsinj, for all the admittedly impressive power he's brought to bear, is a relatively simple man. Make no mistake, he is one of the more intelligent and capable officers serving the Empire, yet without time to plan, his strategy often devolves into tactics largely dependent on brute force. Tell me, Captain, how much do you know about Maarisa Zsinj?"

Niriz blinked at the seemingly non sequitur. "I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with that name."

"His mother, Captain Niriz, she was Admiral Zsinj's mother. She was greatly respected and admired during your Clone Wars, Captain, however her position became tenuous and her role diminished as the increasingly misogynistic policies of the Empire gradually shuffled her aside. Though I have sympathy for her plight, she chose to take her ship and break with the Empire, preying upon Imperial vessels to fight what she perceived to be corruption. As a result, our friend, Admiral Zsinj, was given the task of hunting her down, and hunt her down he did, ruthlessly pursuing her until she was dead by his orders."

Captain Parck stared at him. "His own mother?"

Thrawn ignored the outraged question. "His campaign was as brutal as it was well-executed, and it was unfortunate that his mother had to learn how indiscriminately her son took pleasure in his hunts. Given superior firepower, Admiral Zsinj enjoys herding his enemies with moderately intelligent, but unimaginative tactics; I am merely playing to his expectations of facing a weaker foe."

"Then you've successfully appealed to his baser instincts and lured him into a trap? Grand Admiral, this is all well and good, but this trap, lacks teeth. All but two of the system defense fleet ships have been destroyed and our own losses..." Dagon Niriz shook his head angrily. "Sir, we have a Super Star Destroyer bearing down on us that hasn't taken significant damage since the battle for the system began. Even now, the cruisers that Admiral Zsinj left orbiting Imperial Center are landing troops on the capital!" the _Admonitor_ 's captain spat out, face red with anger.

Unperturbed, Grand Admiral Thrawn raised a single blue-skinned hand, halting the man's words. "Calm down, Captain. You believe we've _lost_ most of our fleet? They were not lost, Captain Niriz, they were _spent._ The difference is a matter of choice; the ships I _chose_ to lose were ones whose complements of troops had already landed onto Imperial Center. I _chose_ ships that were operated by skeleton crews, placing them in the most vulnerable positions within the fleet. Lives and ships spent, Captain, not lost. That which you, and Admiral Zsinj, believe our fleet to have lost have in truth merely been reallocated."

"Perhaps Imperial Center is safe then, for the moment, but what of the _Iron Fist?_ Reallocated resources or not, it's still a Super Star Destroyer," Parck noted, glancing at the projection of Zsinj's pursuing forces.

Thrawn smiled coolly, red eyes gleaming in the dim light. "It's fascinating to see your reactions to our predicament, for though you see a monstrous leviathan preparing to engulf us, _I_ merely see a target of unusual size chasing us in a predictable route giving us every opportunity to destroy it." Thrawn's smile grew wider. "Captain Niriz, the devices we were able to _appropriate_ from the Ebruchi pirates during our last encounter, you remember them?"

Niriz's eyebrows shot up. "Of course, Grand Admiral, impressive pieces of work, even if the damn cloaking devices _do_ require an absurd amount of power."

"Indeed, Captain, such a power draw means their effectiveness in battle would be minimal at best. However, it was to our benefit that Admiral Piett was considerate enough to leave several of his most damaged ships, ships barely serviceable...but with intact reactors."

"Those ships were destroyed almost immediately—"

Thrawn leaned forward, a hand raised to again halt the captain's words. "No, Captain, they were _spent_."

Turning away from the projection, he made his way from the front viewport to the command chair, taking a seat and assuming a relaxed position. Eyes locked upon the projection, Thrawn pressed a small button on a keypad along the arm of the chair. "Lieutenant Klar, have you completed your assignment?"

"Yes, Grand Admiral, we've completed our task and activated the systems. Specter Squadron is standing by as ordered."

Voss Parck raised an eyebrow, looking hopeful for the first time in days. Crossing his arms, he offered a hesitant smile, "I look forward to being amazed once again, Grand Admiral."

"Yes, quite," Captain Niriz added, staring back at him with doubtful eyes.

Ever the more skeptical of the two, it wasn't surprising that Niriz remained so dubious. Ignoring the man's skepticism, Thrawn merely smiled. "Captain Niriz, please inform me when the _Iron Fist_ passes point Theta-Epsilon Seven, as outlined on the grid." The Grand Admiral pressed another button on his chair. "Commander Takam, you are to gradually cut 10% of your engine power and destabilize your containment fields. Take appropriate precautions for radiation poisoning from the hypermatter reactor. You are to order your men to abandon ship in..."

Niriz, seeing Thrawn's expectant look, hurriedly glanced at the hologrid. Looking back, he met Thrawn's gaze and reported, "estimated time of convergence at 165 seconds."

"...in 90 seconds," Thrawn finished.

There was a long pause before Commander Takam acknowledged his orders with a solemn, "Yes, Grand Admiral, it will be done."

Releasing the comm button, Thrawn turned to meet his two most trusted subordinates' shuttered expressions. Leaning forward, he spoke quietly, "nothing attracts a predator like downed prey, gentlemen, and the _Stalwart_ is now serving that role. My plan will succeed, provided that it's executed within a limited amount of time."

Niriz glanced at the display and let out a breath, eyes widening. " _Iron Fist_ has increased speed...as has its escorts."

Thrawn tilted his head and frowned. "Our enemy is not the Super Star Destroyer, Captain Niriz, it is the man that commands it. As I stated before, Admiral Zsinj, though intelligent, is unimaginative and brutish and therefore predictable so long as he believes he holds the advantage. Time until convergence, Captain Parck?"

"The _Stalwart_ is launching escape pods, estimated time with enemy fleet's adjusted speed now...45 seconds," Voss announced.

The blue-skinned admiral smiled and tapped a key. "Lieutenant Karl, you may proceed. Evacuate to safety the moment you've disengaged the safeties."

"Yes, Grand Admiral."

" _Iron Fist_ is firing, targeting _Stalwart_ 's escape pods," a bridge officer in the crew pit announced, voice grim.

"Lives _spent_ ," Thrawn repeated softly.

"20 seconds," Niriz murmured.

They watched as the escape pods launched by the _Stalwart_ were picked off by the _Iron Fist_ and its escorts. One by one, disappearing under a hail of emerald turbolaser fire, the evacuating crewman of the _Stalwart_ were vaporized along with their escape pods.

"Three...two...one...mark!" Niriz announced emotionlessly.

Nothing happened.

"Grand Admiral?" Niriz asked, turning around with gritted teeth.

There was a shudder in the ship then, and Captain Niriz glanced back around just in time to witness the blackness of space turn abruptly white. Officers on the bridge reflexively shielded their eyes, waiting until the transparisteel polarized before looking out again.

A stunned, profound silence filled the bridge as officers checked and double-checked their sensors to confirm what they saw, or rather, what they _didn't_ see.

Thrawn stood from his command chair and cleared his throat. "Reverse course, scan for any escape pods from the _Stalwart_ and should any of Admiral Zsinj's ships be intact, destroy them. Then put us on course for Imperial Center if you please, Ensign. Though the larger threat has been eliminated, the battle for Imperial Center is not yet over."

"Grand Admiral?" Niriz asked, shaking his head in confusion and awe.

Turning to Niriz and Parck, Thrawn offered them each a slight smile. "The salvaged hypermatter reactors taken from Admiral Piett's damaged ships had no difficulty powering the cloaking devices, Captain. Nor was it difficult for Lieutenant Klar's Specter Squadron to assist the _Covus_ in attaching the powered cloaking devices to a handful of the larger asteroids in this region of the system and maneuvering them into a preset position. After Lieutenant Karl disengaged the safeties and increased the power draw of the reactors, it was merely a matter of timing to ensure Zsinj was caught in the blast radius when they overloaded. Zsinj was defeated by his own overconfidence and his unwillingness to see beyond what was there in front of him."

The art of one's home is often a way to understand another, in this case however, I was forced to improvise without having the proper time to examine the Fondorian statues that I've heard much about.

Thrawn took a step and paused. "Ah, one more thing. Captain Parck, upon our return to Imperial Center, you are to obtain samples of art that originate from Tatooine at your earliest convenience. Or anything that might approximate art, in any case. There is another person whom I wish to understand better, and it is yet to be determined whether he is an ally or a foe."

* * *

 **Twenty-seven days after BoE  
Salis D'aar, Bakura**

"Commander Skywalker, with your agreement to accompany my task force to Imperial Center with the express intention of fulfilling your father's will and assuming the Imperial throne, the question of logistics remains. Furthermore, with the framework for a temporary ceasefire with the Alliance of Free Planets established, it is the Empire which you must now turn your attention to," Admiral Piett informed Luke gravely.

"Starting with _how_ you want to travel to Coruscant in the first place," Leia nodded.

Luke grimaced. "Your earlier reservations for my dropping out of hyperspace around Imperial Center aboard an Alliance ship is well and truly understood. Just as I'm sure you understand my own hesitance in taking up residence on an Imperial star cruiser. Your own intentions may be honest, Admiral, but I doubt that yesterday's incident will be the only attempt on my life."

Piett's pained expression was the admiral's only acknowledgement. "You will have the Noghri, Commander, and I assure you they are more than capable of guarding you should your own abilities falter."

"But I don't _know_ them," Luke insisted, hoping his objection wasn't perceived as whining. It was true though; Noghri or no Noghri, the idea of being alone in the midst of thousands of Imperial troops was enough to make him break out into a cold sweat.

He looked over his shoulder at Meewalh, who'd remained as still as a statue for the better part of two days. She and the other two Noghri were the only ones serving as security within the building, which had seemed about as neutral of an arrangement as possible. Page and his commandos were enjoying the amenities of Bakura while the stormtroopers were off doing...stormtrooper-y things that hopefully didn't include terrorizing and/or massacring the locals.

"I'm confident of your skills, Meewalh," Luke told the Noghri, "I merely—"

The Noghri, blinking at having been so directly addressed, held up a hand to forestall Luke's explanation. "You wish to be among your own clan, for protection and for companionship. It is understood, Lord Vad—Commander Skywalker."

There was a collective wince at the name Meewalh had clearly been prepared to address Luke by.

"Bringing your own staff or bodyguards wouldn't be unexpected or insulting by Imperial standards, especially with circumstances being as they are," Baron Fel stated quietly, breaking the awkward silence.

"It might be nice visiting Coruscant again," Lando murmured contemplatively, "you know, without having to dodge bounty hunters and blow up crime lords."

Piett curled a lip. "Xizor's death was inevitable the moment he ignored Lord Vader's warning to stay away from Commander Skywalker." The admiral shook his head, "I have no sympathy for either him or his Black Sun cohorts. In fact, General Calrissian, I'd even go so far as to offer you my thanks for dealing with that scum."

Lando's lopsided smile was genuine but rather than soaking up the praise like Luke halfway expected, the former smuggler merely shrugged. "It was a team effort."

"Lando?" Luke asked hesitantly, an idea slowly coalescing in his mind. "You're familiar enough with politics and bureaucracy, you're good in a fight and I trust you, would you be willing to come with me?" He felt ridiculous asking the question, embarrassed as if he were back on Tatooine, still the farmboy whose ability to ask girls out on a date verged on disgraceful. Nevertheless, he forced the question out and waited.

Lando Calrissian gave him a sharp look but didn't immediately say 'no'. Piett's face looked particularly pained at the idea; Luke guessed his displeasure had something to do with Lando's former occupation of smuggling illegal goods. Han was looking at him as if he'd done something unimaginably stupid while Leia merely seemed pensive, which was about as positive of a reaction as Luke had expected.

Turning to Leia, Lando raised a single eyebrow while stroking his immaculate mustache. "What would the Alliance's reaction be if I did so, Princess? If _anyone_ went with Luke for that matter?"

Drumming her fingers on the table, the Princess tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. She said nothing for a time, just tapped her fingers rhythmically. Finally, she spoke in a hesitant, halting manner as if testing the truth of her own words. "I don't believe it would be a problem for _you_ , you're relatively new to the Alliance without any specifically assigned duties, but I believe High Command would require some oversight on the matter. Handing over Alliance officers to the Empire who may or may not possess valuable information would be something of a concern. No offense, Admiral."

Piett dipped his head, evidently content to observe the Alliance decision-making process with what felt like a weary tolerance. Luke supposed that from his point of view, the Empire clearly held an advantage in getting things done without undue fuss. Luke couldn't disagree with the assessment; the primary problem with the Empire, aside from the foundation from whence it'd sprang, had always been the people _behind_ those decisions.

That, Luke now understood, was the reason for his father ordering all those people killed. His father had given him a blank canvas to create something of his own without worrying about the corruption or backstabbing of Palpatine's favored servants lingering as a constant, dormant threat. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the number of people killed for that reason, but having finally met the Emperor, Luke had far less sympathy for those serving him willingly or actively seeking to ingratiate themselves before him.

Luke's dark thoughts were interrupted when a hand jostled his arm, making him twitch in surprise. Though it'd been Wedge who'd given him the firm shake, his friend had turned to address the others present.

"You know," Wedge began, a corner of his mouth curling up, "Luke...well...he gets into a lot of trouble. He probably would've been shot down or captured _ages_ ago given how much of a magnet for danger he is. But see, luckily for him there were people who had his back."

"No," Leia said flatly.

"Perhaps you're being too hasty, Princess," Tycho Celchu replied respectfully.

"Indeed, Captain Celchu, indeed," Wedge nodded approvingly. "These people—"

"These dashing, wonderful, brave and beautiful people," Tycho interjected.

"—have all proven their loyalty to Commander Skywalker and can certainly provide the companionship he deserves," Wedge finished, crossing his arms defiantly and raising a challenging eyebrow at Leia. "He _understands_ us, Princess, and without him..."

"We're just not complete," Tycho murmured, glancing down with a crestfallen expression.

Luke inwardly groaned; Tycho and Wedge must've talked about this beforehand and had _somehow_ concluded that Wedge's unspoken proposition was a good idea. The idea of surrounding himself with Rogue Squadron was normally a pleasant one, but add a cruiser full of grumpy stormtroopers and resentful Naval officers into the equation and you'd end up with, well, nothing good.

"I believe it could work," Baron Fel added abruptly. "The 181st is currently stationed aboard the _Chimaera_ , I believe Major Phennir and the others would be delighted to teach Rogue Squadron how to properly fly."

Wedge gasped.

Tycho gasped and placed a hand against his heart with a wounded expression.

"Ooh, you really did it now, Soontir," Han cooed.

Fel shrugged and made a show of buffing his nails against his olive-green uniform jacket while inspecting his gleaming medals and campaign pins.

Piett stared at his subordinate with a look that could easily be defined as "Who are you and what have you done with Colonel Fel? How can you support this travesty of an idea? Are you insane?"

It was a _very_ expressive look.

"High Command will discuss it, Commander Antilles," Leia said tightly, clearing her throat to get their attention. She then turned to Admiral Piett, "As far as I'm concerned, our work here is mostly complete. Commander Skywalker will go with you to your flagship, accompanied by Alliance personnel unspecified as of yet."

"The Empire," Piett replied, looking about as unenthused as a man possibly could, "will officially recognize the Alliance of Free Planets as a lawful, but transitional entity. Any restructuring of the Alliance for the purpose of establishing a permanent government will result in all agreements becoming invalid within a standard galactic year unless renegotiated."

"And in turn, the Alliance will sign a treaty of nonaggression with any Imperial controlled system that recognizes Commander Skywalker as the Empire's lawful head of state. Planets that fail to do so, or that violate the preestablished war crimes article of the treaty, will be considered valid targets for the Alliance. Our agreement extends to first, the Alliance of Free Planets, and second, any governing body that is established as a result of a formal restructuring," Leia finished.

Han, who'd been humming in thought, slapped the table surface lightly and waved a hand at the Imperial admiral and then at Leia. "You're going to need a more direct, secure line of communication to help keep everyone honest," Han pointed out. "Not to mention a backdoor for Luke in case things go sour."

"While I normally don't consort with smugglers and their ilk—" Piett began, then paused and cast an apologetic look at Han and Lando, "no offense."

"I don't like smugglers either," Han replied blandly.

Lando shrugged, "can't stand the scum."

"Dishonest, thieving lowlifes," Han nodded.

Leia had to turn away to hide her smile and Luke was pretty sure a corner of Piett's mouth quirked, but it was hard to imagine the self-contained man possessing that much of a sense of humor.

"As I said, normally I don't employ their services, but there is a smuggler—more of an information broker, really—who seems unusually scrupulous and frighteningly competent. He's also been rather fervent about remaining independent in the midst of our...conflict. Were he to agree, I think he might fill that role quite effectively, General Solo," Piett declared.

"You're talking about Karrde, aren't you?" Lando asked, eyes widening.

Piett's eyebrows rose. "I'm surprised you know of him. I've been told he keeps a low profile, but yes, that's whom I'm referring to."

"Not a whole lotta smugglers out there with as good of a rep as his. I only know him because he approached me several years back to recruit me for his organization. Good man, brilliant, good smuggler, I'd trust his word more than I'd trust my own," Lando informed Leia with an approving nod.

"There are so many places I could take that," Han grumbled.

"Very well," Leia nodded firmly. "Then I propose we make our return to Endor within the next day. The list of personnel accompanying Skywalker will be finalized within 24 hours of arriving back at Endor."

Piett opened his mouth, paused and turned to Luke, evidently awaiting his permission.

Luke winced. "I'm still only 'Commander Skywalker' for now, Admiral, but yes, that's agreeable."

"Of course," Piett acknowledged, but Luke could practically see the man adding a mental, "Your Majesty," at the end.

 _Ugh,_ Luke thought mournfully, _Imps._

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I hope that beginning scene wasn't too racy for you folks. I was trying to think of a way to introduce Anakin's ghost to Leia without it being overly angsty. So, it's a little goofy, maybe even tripe, but I'd always had this image in my mind of Anakin shaking his head in disappointment every time he looked at Han and Leia as a couple. Also, let's face it, if Anakin hadn't turned to the dark side and everything went smoothly, he totally would've been the kind of dad to interfere in his little princess's relationships.

Hope everyone enjoyed the Thrawn segment. We'll be seeing more of him soon and his own thoughts/motivations will be discussed! In the books, he always came off as something of a teacher to me. In this chapter, Parck and Niriz were serving in Pellaeon's stead as his students. I was somewhat torn here because I wanted to make him smart, clever, and complex while pitting him up against Zsinj. I don't remember Zsinj nearly as well as I do Thrawn, but I do know the guy was _smart_ , but a lot of that cleverness seemed geared toward empire building than strategy and tactics. I wanted to do both characters justice without ever actually introducing Zsinj.

So, I finally figured out the red lightsaber thing. It might've been said elsewhere, but in the Star Wars book Ahsoka, Ahsoka tells Bail Organa that red lightsaber blades are a result of a crystal being corrupted by the dark side. It's a technique often called "making a crystal bleed." Ahsoka got her white lightsabers by taking two corrupted crystals from an Inquisitor and then "purifying" them. It _does_ sort of add a weight to the whole "red lightsaber = bad guy" notion that extends beyond personal color preferences.

Anyone catch the Pinky and the Brain reference or am I actually starting to get old?

I reread my story, Shockwaves of the Unifying Force, the other day and I'm starting to think it deserves a bit of a rewrite. I really like the structure and plot, but I've only just discovered that it's not really the most well-written piece of work I've managed to produce. When I finish Thor's Slayers, I might make revamping that story my new side project.


	9. Chapter Eight

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I'm getting lots of questions about whether I'll be including this or that character (Rex) or the subplots/events of one book or another. My answer has almost always been, "I haven't been planning on it, but I'm open to the possibility." The simple fact is that the Legends universe is so _massive_ and extends in so many forms of media that I simply can't keep track of it all. I try to include peripheral characters that circled important events or other main characters, but I'm unwilling to force cameos just for the sake of having them.

After this fairly lighthearted chapter, I'm going to spend more time on Thor's Slayers and publish another chapter and/or finish the story. Hopefully, that shouldn't take more than two weeks. After that, I'll return to WotE. Since I have the next few chapters written out in advance, it won't take long to release chapter nine. Yub yub!

"TEXT IN CAPS LOCK INDICATES RIV SHIEL DIALOG" - I'm aware that Shistavanen are not incapable of human speech but I couldn't remember if he was fluent in Basic or if he needed a translator. He didn't get a whole lot of face time so it's possible I bungled that up.

* * *

 **###**

 ** _(_** **Han Solo _):_** _"Nobody move. This is a holdup."_  
 ** _(_ Leia Organa Solo _):_** _"Han."_  
 ** _(_ Han Solo _):_** _"Oh, right, my mistake. Nobody move, this is a coup."_

 **#**

 **Twenty-eight days after BoE  
Aboard _Home One_  
Endor system, Moddell sector**

"That is a _terrible_ idea," General Crix Madine declared, placing an extra emphasis on the 'terrible' just in case his opinion on the matter wasn't blunt enough. Though the man was present only by hologram, the man's visible horror at the proposal further underscored his vocal objection.

"It _would_ be a blow to our morale," Rieekan agreed, frowning as he gazed at the datapad containing Leia's report of Bakura. "They're practically the face of StarCom."

Admiral Ackbar nodded and took in a wet, gurgling breath. "It would take away one of the fleet's finest assets. Their reputation for doing the impossible is well-supported by their past deeds." Bowing his bulbous head, Gial Ackbar stroked his chin with a webbed hand. "They are the best single cohesive starfighter unit we have at our disposal. General Rieekan's estimation of Rogue Squadron's popularity is also accurate. Even their...unsanctioned actions, perhaps even _especially_ them, are celebrated among their fellow pilots."

"And if we _did_ send them, we'd practically be signing off on their death warrants. The Empire would gladly see them dead, if not for their impressive combat records, then just for their personalities!" Cracken paused and shook his head, "and what's worse is that I'm not even sure I'd blame them for lining Janson and Hobbie up against a wall for a firing squad."

"I think it's _perfect_ ," Han replied dreamily.

"The firing wall idea? I agree," Cracken replied blandly.

Chief of State Mothma let out a light cough, halting whatever else Crack was about to add to his statement. Turning to Han, the red-haired Chandrilan gave him a severe frown that would've seemed akin to motherly disapproval had the glint in the former senator's eyes not spoken of an indomitable spirit with waning patience. "I have no objections with sending General Calrissian; Commander Skywalker's reasoning in that suggestion was sound. But to send Rogue Squadron..."

"I believe Han is of the opinion that by sending Rogue Squadron with Luke, we're lessening the chance that he'll go stark, raving mad in the heart of the Empire. He might've been cleared of that debacle with Captain Brie, but he hasn't regained the popularity he once held among the rest of the fleet," Leia replied bluntly. "I'm sure you've all noticed that Luke doesn't smile as much as he used to—"

"I think we already solved most of _that_ mystery," Madine growled.

"Yes, well, putting the issues stemming from his father aside, General, how much smiling do you think he'll be doing on Coruscant? He'll be surrounded by pompous bureaucrats and sycophants all vying for a piece of the proverbial ryshcate. How do you think he'll react to being thrust into that sort of position?" Leia asked.

"Then you agree with General Solo, Your Highness?" Airen Cracken asked, a single gray eyebrow raised in skepticism.

"Oh, _Sith_ no." The last Princess of Alderaan shook her head violently enough that the plait of brown hair crowning her head nearly came loose. "I think it's a terrible idea, I was just trying to elaborate on Han's less than eloquent comment."

Carlist Rieekan barked out a laugh, shaking his head ruefully. "Oh, Lelila..."

To Leia's bemusement, the other senior members of the Alliance wore this odd resigned look that she'd seen on elderly humans whose control over their own bowel movements had faded and couldn't bring themselves to care; it was _not_ their best look. Though she understood their frustration with her admittedly juvenile antics at such a serious time, she couldn't make herself sympathize with them. She'd been separated from Han for the better part of a year and to hell with anyone who wanted them to act like strangers.

"Thanks for backing me up there, sweetheart, I'll remember that," Han muttered.

Leia flashed him a sweet smile.

Smile fading from his face, General Rieekan ran a hand through his graying hair, still surrounded by that air of confusion that'd he'd emanated since Admiral Piett's fleet had first arrived. Leaning back in his chair, he quietly asked, "I don't suppose Commander Skywalker has given any thought to the matter, has he?"

"He has," Leia confirmed. "He... I think he wants them to come or at least likes the idea of them being there, but he doesn't want to put them in danger."

Han rolled his eyes. "Sounds like Luke. Look, if this...thing works out, than the Alliance is about to get a _lot_ of breathing space, am I right? Carte blanche to establish ourselves without worrying about the Empire or without worrying about a large part of it, at least. No one here doubts what Rogue Squadron is capable of, I'm sure, but all that talent _might_ just be put to better use to protect our man on the inside. Right? No Luke, no truce."

Mon Mothma swiveled her chair to face Han, expression as composed as ever with her hands folded neatly upon the gleaming, silver table. "The objections voiced by General Rieekan are the most compelling in my mind. They _are_ an excellent combat unit, but what they've come to represent is _far_ more important to the Alliance. Your justifications aren't unreasonable, General Solo, but you shouldn't expect Commander Skywalker to always be our 'man on the inside,' as you put it."

Cracken nodded. "Commander Skywalker is going to be under an unholy amount of pressure from the power brokers of the Empire. With the destruction of the second Death Star and Emperor Palpatine, a lot of powerful people won't be willing to accept peace anytime soon. He'll have to compromise in some areas, a lot of areas, to gain their support, and make no mistake about it, he'll _need_ their support to keep the Sector fleets from being used against him by the more volatile Moffs."

Han huffed out a breath. "Look, the kid needs someone there for him. The Princess needs to stay here and I ain't leaving, so who else are you gonna trust? There's no one in the Alliance he trusts more than the Rogues, no one who has his back like they do," Han argued. "I'd lay down odds that Wedge already told the rest of the squadron about Vader and that _every single one of them_ will be just as willing to go with their 'boss.' Can you name any other unit in the fleet that wouldn't hesitate go to bat for the kid, knowing who his father is?"

Airen Cracken let out a weary sigh. "Rumors about Commander Skywalker have already started circulating around the fleet. Several Bakurans witnessed interactions between a high-ranking Imperial officer and our own Commander Skywalker, uniquely identified by his lightsaber. I believe it likely that those reports made their way toward Alliance personnel and are responsible for the disquiet. Despite the inaccuracy of the rumors, it's only a matter of time before someone puts more of the pieces together." The Contruum native scowled at the table before turning a frown on Han. "You are right about one thing, General Solo. There might be plenty of people who'd be willing to accompany Commander Skywalker to Coruscant, but only Rogue Squadron would do it en masse."

"Exactly! Besides, even if Luke can't give us the galaxy on a silver platter, he'll still be able to make things easier on us. We've all agreed that Luke shouldn't go alone, so who else are you gonna send?" Han demanded. He felt a slim hand settle on his thigh, giving it a hard squeeze, making his mouth snap shut. Taking a deep breath, he realized that his voice had been getting louder as his annoyance with High Command's indecision grew. Speaking with a much softer voice, he continued, "we all know the Rogues work and play hard, but I think the lot of you have forgotten the lengths they'll go to protect one of their own. Hell, they dropped into _Coruscant_ a little more than a month ago and helped get the _Falcon_ out of Xizor's greedy green hands. Like I said before, I bet Wedge and the gang are in the command center talking about it _right now_."

Rieekan gave him a pained look. "The bar in the officers' mess is _not_ their command center."

Han huffed out a laugh. "You must not have much experience with Shistavanen, General. You just try telling the Rogues and we'll see what happens."

"Perhaps," Ackbar cut in, "it would be better if we were to speak directly with Commander Antilles on the matter." The Mon Calamari seemed to slump in his seat before taking another gurgling breath. "Sending Rogue Squadron is a dangerous proposition, on many levels, but it isn't necessarily a _bad_ idea. We'll send for the commander in the morning because I, for one, believe we're all due for a recess."

A chorus of assenting murmurs confirmed his observation.

"Then it is decided," Mothma declared. "We'll meet here, tomorrow, at 09:00. General Solo, I'd appreciate it if you went ahead and contacted Commander Antilles, in person, to let him know. I believe it'd be best if we kept this as quiet as possible until Commander Skywalker is on his way to Coruscant. Eventually news _will_ break out about him, but I would have it be at _our_ digression."

Han tipped her a salute. "You got it."

#

Han walked with Leia at a purposefully slow pace, holding hands as they let the others slip ahead of them. He didn't feel the need to say anything, just took pleasure in the fact that she walked beside _him_. Every now and then, it struck him like a fist to the gut that she, the last Princess of Alderaan, was _his_. Of course, if he ever said something like that that aloud she'd likely castrate him, but that didn't mean he couldn't take pleasure in the thought. They continued their leisurely stroll until they finally reached the turbolift that would take Han to the Rogues.

Flashing Leia that cocky grin he knew drove her up the wall, Han pointed to the turbolift with a thumb. "Well, this is my ride, sweetheart. I gotta head to the command center for a thorough debriefing. I'll catch up with you tonight, yeah?"

Leia sniffed disdainfully, but the warmth in her eyes were more of an answer then her verbal reply. "You know the access code, flyboy, but don't stay out too long. Or drink too much!"

Han gasped, pressing hand against his chest with a shocked look. "Your Worship...would _I_ do that?" He let out an aggrieved sigh. "I am woefully misunderstood; a result, clearly, of your royal upbringing."

Leia's mouth trembled with the effort to avoid laughing in his face, instead settling for a bemused shake of her head. Then, pressing the flat of her palm against his chest, she pushed him toward the turbolift. "Go, nerfherder!"

Han stumbled into the lift, turned around and gave her a parting wink just as the doors slid shut.

* * *

Wedge sat his empty glass of lomin ale onto the plastech surface of the bar top with a heavy 'thud'. "...and so that's what Bakura was all about."

"Excuse me! What the hell do you people think you're doing?! The mess is closed for renovat—"

The members of Rogue Squadron swiveled in their seats to observe an obnoxious twit of a man determined to berate them for something official-ly. Wedge frowned and glanced to his side. "Riv?"

A low growl echoed in the room, low enough that the glass in the room seemed to hum with its intensity. Riv Shiel, the squadron's token Shistavanen, hopped off his stool onto all fours, advancing on the white-faced man standing at the officers' mess entrance.

"You—you can't do—I'm your superior off—"

The wolfman's low growl increased in volume and added a slavering element that was...not pretty.

"He'll get you," Tycho told him.

Janson nodded enthusiastically. "He has a death mark on him for eating Imperial bureaucrats when they were running a census. You're not a bureaucrat by any chance, are you? Nothing like logistics or support, yeah?"

"I w—work with supply and ordinance—"

Riv snapped his jaws and barked, advancing toward the man and leaping onto a nearby table, growling even louder than before.

The man yelped and backtracked his way out of the door. "I'm going to inform my superior about this!"

A moment passed before Riv stood up and brushed himself off. A series of barks and yips was quickly translated into, "HUMANS ARE STUPID. I'M CAPABLE OF FLYING AN X-WING AND THINKING RATIONALLY, YET HE BELIEVED I WOULD TRULY EAT HIM."

"To be fair, you're pretty terrifying when you go all snarly," Kirst admitted cheerfully, raising her glass in a toast.

"BESIDES, HUMANS TASTE AWFUL, WHY WOULD I WANT TO EAT HIM? IT MAKES NO SENSE," Riv barked out.

The seemingly endless silence that followed was awkward, to say the least.

"Alright, so you know about Bakura now, you know about Admiral Piett," Wedge eventually prompted, as much to put Riv's remark behind them as to return to the original subject. "Any questions?"

The silence in the officers' mess took on a different flavor as the information he'd revealed rose back to the forefront of their minds. For his part, Wedge was just gratified that no one had immediately brandished their blasters to go after Vader's offspring. Therefore, he was content merely to soak in the silence offered by the cessation of Janson's running commentary on life. Unfortunately, no sooner had the happy realization occurred that a hand tentatively rose into the air on the far side of the bar.

Wedge ignored that hand.

The raised hand began slowly waving in the air to catch his attention, either unaware or uncaring that Wedge was deliberately ignoring it.

Wedge continued to studiously avoid the sight of it.

There was a soft cough.

Pointedly ignoring the waving hand, Wedge nodded enthusiastically toward the source of that cough. "Kirst?"

" _Seriously?"_ the blonde exclaimed. "Everything you just told us—it's ridiculous!"

"Which part?" Tycho asked dryly. Picking up his own mug, the Alderaanian drained it before setting it down, reaching over the bar and pouring himself a new glass.

Wedge whistled sharply, catching Tycho's attention and tapping his own glass in silent demand. Tycho, the loyal XO that he was, slid the bottle down the bar after filling his mug.

Kirst opened her mouth then closed it, grimacing when words failed her.

"If you'd told me that Luke was Darth Vader's son four years ago, I would've been the first to laugh in your face followed by a boot up the choobies. It's not surprising that the last few years have changed all of us, but Luke..." Will trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"Talks about the Force _all the time_ , wears black, uses a lightsaber, looks depressed, yeah, I see it," Plourr announced, rocking her chair back as she ran a hand over her shaved head. "Well, he certainly doesn't have the height gene, that's for sure."

Tycho snorted.

"Okay, fine, what about the other _small_ matter Wedge brought up?" Kirst demanded, folding her arms across her chest.

The hand at the end of the bar was still waving for his attention. Wedge still ignored it.

"I believe one of our colleagues has something to add," Hobbie added solemnly.

 _Damn you, Hobbie._ Wedge barely resisted snarling at the Ralltiiri before he reluctantly turned his attention to the squadron's other problem child. "What, _Janson?"_

"Can we get the boss...a cape?"

"No," Wedge denied flatly.

"A black, intimidating helmet?"

"No."

"A fancy crown?"

"No."

"A respirator?"

" _Janson_ , you are beginning to damage my calm," Wedge gritted out.

"A red lightsaber?"

"N—" Wedge paused, scrunching his nose up. "I'll run that one by Luke. He hasn't explained the color thing to me."

"Success!" Wes Janson crowed, taking a long swallow of his drink to celebrate.

"So back to my original question," Kirst growled. "Wedge, are you actually suggesting that we voluntarily join Luke on his trip to Coruscant? On a Star Destroyer? Surrounded by a _lot_ of people who hate us at _all_ times? And that's all _before_ we reach the 'safety' of Coruscant. Sithspit, Wedge, really?!"

Tycho rapped his knuckles on the bar top. "I feel compelled to point out that Baron Fel, on behalf of the 181st, offered to teach _us_ how to fly."

There was a collective gasp of shocked outrage.

"Well...it's not like we can let that stand now can we?" Janson asked cheerfully.

"A few bucketheads want to get rough? Let them. We're Rogue Squadron; there's _no one_ we can't outfly," Hobbie declared solemnly. "Janson's right, Force help us all, we clearly have no choice."

"How is it that I'm the _only_ one who doesn't want to surround myself with Imps, Imps who are probably just a _little_ upset with us kicking their karking asses a month ago?" Kirst asked, slapping a hand against the bar top in frustration.

Riv growled and let out a short bark followed by several high pitched yips. A robotic voice quickly translated the Shistavanen's words into, "YOU ARE NOT."

"The idea isn't all that appealing for me either, Riv, Kirst," Standro admitted. "And seriously, Riv? You need to learn Basic. Someone takes that thing out and you're dead weight to us."

Riv let out a low growl that had the hair on the back of Wedge's neck standing on end.

"I know what that means!" Plourr slurred out excitedly.

Wedge snapped his fingers. "Focus!"

"Hobbie's right that I'm right," Janson declared decisively. "Just because the Imps don't like nonhumans, think women are inferior, and are predisposed to despise us for being Rebels _doesn't_ mean we can't turn this into a learning experience! Where's your sense of adventure?" Janson cajoled.

Plourr belched.

Kirst let her head fall onto the bar top. "I hate you all."

"No, you don't!" Janson smiled his best winning smile at her, ducking to avoid a thrown nut.

Wedge took a swallow of his ale before rapping his own knuckles against the bar top. "The question isn't whether it'll be safe or fun."

"Though that _is_ a factor," Janson interjected.

Ignoring Wes, Plourr tilted her head in question. "Then what is it?"

"Are any of you willing to let Luke walk into this _without_ us?"

The others stared at Wedge.

"Kriff you, Wedge," Kirst scowled.

"Sithspit! How would this even work? What, are we just going to lounge about aboard a Star Destroyer and blend in with the scenery? And what happens when we get to Coruscant?" Will demanded.

The annoyance was plainly written upon Scotian's face, but Wedge had known the man long enough to see that Will's decision had already been made. He wanted answers, but he wouldn't leave Luke in the lurch. _None_ of them would.

Tycho sighed. "We don't need to be his bodyguards, he has the Noghri for that; we just need to be _there_. Think about it this way: Luke's going to be overwhelmed with the mess waiting for him on Coruscant and his first and foremost concern will be keeping the Empire intact. His worst enemy will be his own Empire and all the errant, slimeball Moffs wanting to knock his block off. Who better than us to deal with it? You think Luke can trust Imps to follow _his_ orders and deal with rebellious officers in the midst of a power struggle? Bad idea."

"AND WHAT OF THE EMPIRE'S TREATMENT OF NONHUMANS?" Riv barked.

Plourr raised her glass to her mouth, before frowning at its empty state. Glancing aside, she reached across Tycho and swiped Kirst's glass, taking a long swallow and ignoring the other woman's squawk of outrage. Wiping her mouth, she demanded, "And what about the dis—disdain for females in the military?"

"Oh please," Hobbie scoffed, "Ilo, don't tell me you're not looking forward to swinging a fist at the first stiff, stuck-up Imperial asshole that says something unimaginably stupid."

Plourr shot him a rude gesture but didn't disagree.

With an accusing finger pointed at the squadron's resident Shistavanen, Janson declared, "Riv! Did you not see the reaction of that pipsqueak half a minute ago? If you're telling me that you can't go all growly and snarly and make _any_ Imp wet himself, I'll boot you from my squadron right now."

"That would be _my_ decision, _Lieutenant_ Janson, and _my_ squadron" Wedge glowered at the Taanabian.

Wes Janson sniffed, wagging a finger at Wedge over the rim of his empty mug. "I stand by my words."

"Nobody _has_ to go if they don't want to," Wedge stated firmly. "This is strictly voluntary."

"We'll just think less of you if you don't," Hobbie added helpfully.

Tycho nodded. "That, and..."

"Luke." Will sighed. "Stupid son of Vader."

"So? Who's in?" Wedge asked, ignoring Will's comment.

A moment passed before every hand, some more tentatively than others, rose in the air.

"Honestly, like we'd allow the boss to get himself into trouble without us being there to spetca—spectate," Plourr huffed.

"I've got a _bad_ feeling about this," Kirst lamented.

"Gods, what's wrong with you!? Couldn't you have found a better place to gossip?" a loud, Corellian-accented voice shouted. "Fierfek, you guys are _loud_ and this ain't exactly the most private of places. You're kriffing lucky nobody else is here—"

"We had Riv scare them off," Janson stated blithely.

There was a pause. "Of course you did."

As one, the members of Rogue Squadron swiveled in their seat to face the newcomer.

"General Solo!" Wedge called out. "I'm pleased to announce that Luke will be in good company for his journey!"

Han made a face. "Luke will be thrilled once he stops feeling guilty. High Command wants to see you at 09:00 to see if you're interested."

"We'll be happy to grace them with our presence," Plourr cheered, raising her glass in the air.

Han chuckled. "I'll let you deal with that, Wedge. Well, message delivered, I'll see you degenerates—"

"You are so whipped!" Kirst called out.

Han, in the process of turning around, froze. "Say that again, Kirst, I dare you."

"I'll do better than that, whipped boy, I'll say that to your face... _over a mug of ale_ ," Kirst challenged. "Or is spending time in our presence too low-brow now that you spend your evenings in such lofty company?"

" _What?_ " Han asked disbelievingly.

"What my phallic—" Wes paused and frowned. "What my _follicly_ challenged friend is _trying_ to say, is that you've turned into a wimp ever since the Princess finally felt sorry enough to date your sorry ass."

Riv let out a lengthy series of yips, but there was no need for a translation; laughter was a universal language.

Han opened his mouth, closed it, and grimaced. "Wedge, control your cronies."

Wedge raised a lofty hand to catch the Rogues' attention and ordered in a grave, imperious tone. "Cronies, behave!"

Hobbie snorted.

Turning around and striding up to the X-Wing pilots with a fierce glint in his eyes, Han removed his black vest and rolled up his sleeves. "You know what, fine. Kriff it all, someone get me two fingers of whiskey on the double," Sending a sly smile toward Rogue Squadron's leader, he asked, "Wedge, you got cards?"

"Am I Corellian? I'm offended that you'd even ask, Han," Wedge replied slyly. "Ladies, gentlemen and everything in between, let's break some regulations and gamble."

Plourr cheered, drained her glass and hopped down from her bar stool, teetering dangerously before she eventually fell backwards onto her rump.

 _It's going to be one of those nights,_ Wedge thought, _hungover or black-out drunk, yes, this is how I plan to meet my soon-to-be shipmates_. "Will, get me another ale!"

"Riv's closer!" Will complained.

"Riv gets hair in my drinks," Wedge retorted then glanced at the Shistavanen. "No offense, Riv."

The wolfman shrugged.

Taking a seat next to Han at the hastily assembled sabacc table, Wedge leaned over and murmured, "You're the worst general _ever_ , Han."

Chuckling, the Corellian ex-smuggler bumped his newly acquired glass with Wedge's. "I know."

Wedge began dealing out the cards but was interrupted when Han leaned in and asked, "So what's this about a new pilot named Ketch?"

The rest of the cards went flying.

* * *

"We were not aware that Lord Vader had fathered another child," Meewalh hissed, pacing back and forth across the short length of Luke's quarters.

Luke nodded. "My twin sister. My father wasn't aware of their familial connection until his final moments."

Meewalh stopped her pacing and pointed a clawed finger at him. "Clan Vader is...very complicated."

Letting out a surprised laugh, Luke gave the Noghri a helpless shrug. "Yes, yes we are."

He continued to observe the Noghri's renewed pacing until he finally asked, "Meewalh, why are you asking about Leia?"

"We would not leave the daughter of Vader, the sister of the Emperor, unprotected," the Noghri warrior replied.

The words were spoken with honesty, but Luke sensed a depth of meaning that seemed oddly evasive. Narrowing his eyes, Luke watched Meewalh and said a very loud nothing, waiting for the Noghri to continue.

Meewalh caught him watching her and let out an angry hiss, coming to an abrupt halt and turning away. "Everything we've told you is true, but we did not tell you everything. When Lord Vader charged us with your protection, he confessed a great evil he'd committed, a lie he'd imparted to my people to keep them in his service."

Luke blinked and sat down heavily upon his bunk. "Tell me."

The Noghri told him.

"So my father used my life as collateral in order to persuade you to enter my service as bodyguard or assassin. You want to leave one of your brethren behind to persuade my sister, as the only other individual capable of representing my father's authority, to aid your people. Is that about it?" Luke finally asked, allowing himself a moment to consider the situation.

Meewalh's snout bobbed up and down in a clipped nod. "Your time will be greatly constrained in your attempt to keep the Empire together, as will your resources; that is understandable and unavoidable. We expect you to fulfill your father's oath, but your sister's existence grants greater, faster inroads to a galactic power more predisposed to aid nonhumans."

Luke winced and rubbed his flesh hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah...I'm going to work on that." He sighed and glanced at her. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for what my father did to your people...I—I will do what I can and I know that Leia will too."

Meewalh cocked her head, nostrils flaring. "We will see."

* * *

 **The next day**

"Are you sure about this, Luke?" Leia asked anxiously, one hand clamped onto his shoulder while her eyes searched his.

"It's a little too late for second thoughts, Leia. Besides, I'll be fine..." Luke made a sour face and glanced over his shoulder at the assembled Rogues loitering near the X-Wings in _Home One_ 's hanger. "I have _them._..what could possibly go wrong?"

Leia's silence was an ominous answer, but she eventually drew him into a fierce hug. "Be _careful,_ Luke."

"That goes for the both of us," Han added, slapping a hand against Luke's shoulder. "You say the word and we'll extract you, no questions asked. Same goes if you just need a little joyride to save you from all the morbid Imperialness you'll have to deal with."

Luke laughed softly and used both arms to draw his best friends into a tight embrace. "We'll see each other soon enough and I'll comm you whenever I get the chance." Withdrawing from the hug, he shook Han's shoulder gently, murmuring, "Be good to my sister, Han."

Turning back to Leia, Luke placed his arms upon her shoulders and drew her against him in order to kiss her forehead. Pulling back, he gave her a soft smile. "I left something in your quarters, Leia, for when you're ready. Two somethings actually."

His sister looked at him suspiciously, raising a single, inquiring eyebrow.

"So suspicious." Luke shook his head in bemusement. "You know how I spent all that time fixing that lightsaber I stole from Grakkus on Nar Shadda?" At her nod, he continued, "well, once I'd learned enough to make my own, it wasn't hard to figure out what was wrong with _that_ one. If I'd had the time, I would've finished it on Tatooine with the materials Obi-Wan left me in his hut. It's thanks to Gaeri—Senator Captison, who was able to obtain the necessary type of focusing crystal on Bakura, that I was able to fully repair it."

Feeling distinctly nervous under Leia's intense, and not entirely happy gaze, he began speaking faster. "It's a small hilt, but your hands should fit the hilt comfortably. I also adjusted the blade length with a slight modification to the emitt—"

"Luke," Leia interrupted.

Luke shut his mouth, took a steadying break, and started again. "A week after the Battle of Yavin, General Syndulla gave me a holocron that helped set me on my path. I've added some of my own teachings and...well, it'll give you a good starting point. The lightsaber lessons might be particularly illuminating, if you're willing to be open-minded."

With a snort, Han remarked, "Well that's not cryptic at all."

"Being cryptic is the right of all Jedi," Luke replied serenely before turning abruptly serious. "I know you don't want to be a Jedi—"

Leia help up her hand to forestall his words. "I'll...do what I can, Luke. That's all I can promise."

"Thanks, Leia. Uhm...one thing, opening the holocron requires use of the Force. Concentrate, _feel_ it and you'll take your first steps into a larger world."

Han snorted. "Kid, you _really_ need to stop quoting your teachers; I remember that old fossil telling you that when we blasted out of Mos Eisley."

"And he didn't exaggerate," Luke retorted, "in this case, however, your first steps will be taken much more rapidly than my own. The holocron contains a wealth of information for those able to open it."

Leia gave him a dubious look but didn't otherwise argue.

Glancing past Leia toward the flight deck's entrance, he called out to the silent sentinel half-hidden by shadow, "Khabarakh? Please take care of them. They are...everything to me."

"No harm will come to them," was the quiet, sibilant hiss he received in response.

Han grimaced. "I never thought I'd say it, but I'd rather have Threepio around instead."

"General Solo! I am _always_ happy to be of service," C-3PO exclaimed, both hands raising into the air excitedly.

Artoo, standing by the protocol droid next to Luke's X-Wing, made a derisive 'blat' and rolled over to his X-Wing, waiting to be assisted into the snubfighter's astromech socket.

"I take it back," Han growled, "give me all the Noghri you want, just take the professor. _Please_."

Luke laughed softly. "Sorry, Han, I'm afraid you're stuck with him. However, I _am_ taking Lando off your hands and I'll see what I can do about getting Kashyyyk clear of Imperial activity."

"Chewie will be thrilled, no doubt, but Luke... _hurry._ Not just because of Kashyyyk, but the more time Moffs have without a semblance of oversight, the more power they'll seek for themselves and the more resistant to you, and the Empire, they'll become," Leia cautioned him.

"I know." Luke glanced down, fiddling with his orange flight suit while searching for something else to say. "I've already said goodbye to everyone else, so..." Luke glanced back up, his blue eyes seemingly bluer than normal as he offered his two best friends a weak smile.

"Hey, Luke," Han caught his eye, "may the Force be with you."

Luke smiled and gave them a two-fingered salute. Picking his flight helmet up from a nearby supply crate, he gave them one last smile before turning his back and jogging toward the X-Wing that Artoo had already begun warming up.

* * *

 **Endor system, Moddell sector  
En route to in-system rendezvous point**

"Well, boss, last chance to bug out," Wedge called out over the squadron channel.

Gazing out of the X-Wing's viewport at the looming Imperial fleet, Luke empathized with their hesitance to make themselves at home on an Imperial Star Destroyer. He supposed the prospect of being a Rebel amidst thousands of stormtroopers and other assorted grumpy, officious turds, as Plourr had so delicately put it, would encourage anyone to second guess their life choices.

"You didn't have to come, Wedge," Luke reminded his friend. " _None_ of you had to."

"And miss the chance to have a friendly brawl with some Imps?" Janson asked, sounding aghast. "Well, I never!"

"And miss the chance to see Janson get his ass kicked in a friendly brawl with some Imps?" Hobbie immediately retorted. "Not a chance."

Luke smiled; he couldn't help it. Despite the palpable tension that existed within the squadron, despite the knowledge that he was leading them into a convoluted situation fraught with danger, he smiled. Rogue Squadron, with him and Lando flying, was now only one man short of an even dozen, and the banter brought back the _rightness_ he'd always felt when flying with his Rogues into the unknown.

 _Force, I miss flying_ , Luke thought morosely. It'd been far too long since he'd simply flown for the sake of flying, and it was only now that the jolt of longing struck him like a fist in the gut. _No Empire or Rebellion, no battles or politics, just the stars and skies and the escape from gravity._

"Rogue Leader, your squadron is cleared to land in the main hanger, berths 34 through 45. Your shuttle is cleared for landing in Bay 5A."

The voice that rang in Luke's ears jarred him from his thoughts, and the reminder of his new circumstances drew a grimace from him. Luke tapped his comm button to switch to an external channel. "Copy, _Chimaera_ Control." Switching back to the squadron frequency, he advised the Rogues to land at the designated berths and for Meewalh and Cakhmaim, who were piloting a recently "acquired" _Delta_ shuttle, to do likewise.

Blowing out a long breath, Luke tipped his X-Wing upward at a slight angle, staring as the hanger of the _Chimaera_ grew larger and more intimidating. Landing his X-Wing in that hanger would be an acceptance of his fate, a fate that include him becoming reviled throughout the galaxy after the knowledge of his parentage became public. That, in itself, was hard for him to accept. He'd never believed that he'd truly be able to keep his relationship to Darth Vader a secret forever; secrets had a way of making themselves known. But he'd never imagined it happening this soon! He'd envisioned the Alliance evolving into a Republic, that he'd have time to create a new, flourishing Jedi Order that the galaxy could hold as proof that neither he nor Leia were their father before it was revealed. Now, the only thing he could offer a frightened, disenfranchised galaxy were promises.

 _Promises_ , he thought bitterly, _and what sort of promises can I offer?_

The time he'd spent on Bakura sequestered with Admiral Piett and his sister had been eye-opening on a number of levels. He wasn't entirely naive about politics, despite what Han liked to imply, but _Imperial_ politics seemed to be complicated, corrupt and brutal on a scale he hadn't thought possible. Somehow, he was supposed to rally enough support from the Moffs, and their sector fleets, to keep the Empire together. The _same_ Moffs who were predisposed to hate and plot against him and who'd likely only be coaxed into service by pursuing courses of action he'd consider immoral.

Admiral Piett, much to Leia's disgust, had bluntly stated that the assassinations of problematic Moffs were likely to be the single most effective method of gathering their strength under his name. Dealing with the power-hoarding bureaucracy and with COMPNOR was an entirely different matter and were likely to be just as much, if not more of a struggle. But none of these things were the root of his real worry, no, his worry was far more insidious and dangerous than backstabbing, plotting Imperials.

In his efforts to keep the Empire together, to combat corruption on a galactic scale, he would be forced to walk along the line of morality. It was _expected_ that in executing his duties as Emperor that he would cross that line from time to time by necessity. It was crossing that line where the temptation of the dark side would wait like a krayt dragon beneath the sand. He would have to be constantly vigilant lest he become the tyrant his sister had fought so hard against for entire life. It was _that_ which had kept Luke awake the previous night and the night before tha—

"So, listen to this: Lieutenant Kettch and a Jawa walk into a bar and Kettch says to the bartender—"

The chorus of jeers, shouts, and boos overwhelmed the squadron frequency, bringing a smile to Luke's lips and letting him set his darker thoughts aside. Mentally tuning Wes Janson's loudly protesting voice out, he embraced the fact that no matter how things may change, _some_ things will always be the same.

* * *

 **Aboard the _Chimaera  
_ 45 minutes later**

"Commander Skywalker, might I present Gilad Pellaeon, Captain of the _Chimaera_ and Flag Captain of this task force," Admiral Piett said stiffly, a hand gesturing to the silver-haired man standing ramrod straight by his side.

Piett, Pellaeon, Lando and himself stood opposite each other in the stateroom adjacent to the luxurious VIP quarters located on the Star Destroyer. After Luke and Lando had changed out of their flight gear, they'd been ushered by Pellaeon into the large office furnished with rich wood furniture, artwork and a collection of expensive alcohol.

Pellaeon looked him up and down with a pained expression following Piett's introduction, seemingly torn between offering a bow, a salute or a set of handcuffs out of long-standing habit. Luke sympathized and decided on a more casual approach rather than navigate the complexities of his status within the Empire. Stepping forward, Luke offered a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet the man who helped keep the peace in Admiral Piett's absence. You have my gratitude, Captain."

The older man blinked but gave his hand a firm shake, looking oddly bemused at his words. "Of course...Commander Skywalker," the captain replied graciously.

Luke thought Pellaeon's hesitance was likely the result of a failed search for the proper form of address for a visiting war criminal and terrorist. It wasn't surprising; letting bygones be bygones wasn't exactly standard operating procedure for the Empire.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, he gestured to the dark-skinned man on his own side. "This is General Lando Calrissian. The primary reason for his being here is to serve as a representative of the Alliance, but will also fill the role of an adviser whom I can trust and whose experience in administration and bureaucracy far exceeds my own."

"General Calrissian," Captain Pellaeon nodded, looking more sure of himself than he had before. The older man's eyes narrowed and cocking his head to the side, he asked, "you were the Calrissian responsible for dealing with that pirate business on Tanaab?"

Lando's answering smile was positively dazzling. "That's right, Captain."

"I was quite impressed with that operation, not an easy thing to bring down a pair of corvettes with Z-95s. I imagine working alongside you should be quite interesting," Pellaeon declared with a slight smile, the motion making the man's mustache twitch.

Lando shrugged a shoulder, the movement shifting the ornamental pauldron that held up his blue cape so that it glinted in the artificial light.

Luke noted that Admiral Piett's gaze had fastened onto the object and was looking at it as if he wanted to throw it out the airlock. Narrowing his eyes as he examined it closer, Luke had to bite his cheek to hold back the laughter when he realized that the images on the pauldron were in fact depictions of women in varied states of undress and of many different species.

Coughing loudly, Pellaeon pointedly abandoned his own examination of Lando's jewelry to meet Luke's eyes. The captain's expression and tone were as grave as before, but there was a subtle glint of amusement in the man's eyes that surprised him.

"The others you brought—Rogue Squadron?" Pellaeon asked, head tilted in curiosity.

Luke gave the man a half-smile. "You'd be right, Captain. They're purportedly here to keep me out of trouble."

The grizzled man raising a single brow.

"They're more likely to get him _into_ trouble," Lando explained, "but a better group of people to have at your back you'll never find.

"Yes, that's true, but they..." Luke faltered, embarrassed at the childish words that seemed determined to escape his mouth. After several long seconds, he surrendered. "They're my friends."

Both Admiral Piett and Captain Pellaeon's eyebrows shot up in surprise and, yes, amusement.

Pellaeon, however, searched his eyes for a moment longer before something within him seemed to soften. "Of course," he said quietly. "In the days to come, the presence of friends might make all the difference in making this bearable for you."

"Indeed," Piett added, "which rather brings us to the point: the days to come."

Luke nodded. "What can we expect when we arrive at Coru—Imperial Center?"

"At best, a cold welcome by the Grand Admiral or one of his subordinates. At worst, a hostile fleet with no intention of letting you escape. And that's just the system itself, Commander. The planet's status will be far more challenging to negotiate if fighting remains ongoing." Piett replied instantly.

Luke winced. "We have to assume we're able to land on Imperial Center, one way or another. If so, our primary goal is to stabilize the Empire, bring the Moffs into line, and restore the bureaucracy with one less corrupt."

"You make it sound easy, Luke, but that's no simple undertaking. There's a _lot_ of people looking to cash in on the Emperor's death, whether it's by seizing power for themselves or their willingness to pander to his successor for their own goals," Lando replied somberly. "Problem is, the Empire relies on the Moffs to remain intact and the Moffs have been kept in line through fear for the last 20 years. If they don't fear you, they won't obey you."

Admiral Piett's lips thinned into a straight line. "A succinct summation of our difficulties ahead, General Calrissian. Commander, with your ties to the Alliance, it's possible that a coordinated effort to stabilize the Empire will result not only in strengthening the Alliance but also eliminating many of the less obedient of the Moffs."

"Consolidate the core, pull support from the rim and the Moffs most unwilling to submit," Pellaeon nodded. Casting a frown at Piett, he added, "if you don't mind my saying so, Admiral, while I have no desire to _empower_ the Alliance, I cannot fault your reasoning. However, there will be others, many others, less open-minded than I."

"As much as I wish for the Empire to remain completely intact, it simply isn't feasible anymore. Trying to attract the regional governors and sector Moffs through idealism will, in truth, generate significant opposition to you. Letting those sectors face an Alliance rapidly growing in strength and unimpeded by the Emperor, and they'll fall in line soon enough. The Alliance grows stronger and the fear generated by that increased strength can be used to stabilize the Empire," Piett summarized.

"So what you're saying," Luke drew out slowly, "is that if I bring my naive, do-gooder, rebellious ways to Imperial Center, that I'll merely be making things worse."

Pellaeon and Piett glanced at each before turning back to Luke, saying a very loud nothing.

"Don't be fooled by Luke's kindness and boyish good looks, gentlemen," Lando cautioned them, "underneath that visage is the soul of a man who spent 19 years _moisture farming_ on Tatooine. If anyone understands corruption, it's someone who spent their formative years in the shadow of a Hutt."

The two Imperial officers wore identical grimaces that spoke volumes about Lando's attempt at reassurance, though whether their derision stemmed from the idea of moisture farming or of the Hutts, Luke couldn't be sure and didn't bother to ask. Folding his hands together, he offered them all a respectful nod. "I think...I think I'd like to meditate on this; there's too much information I have to take into consideration before we make more specific plans. Why don't we reconvene here tomorrow morning at 08:00 and we can discuss our immediate strategy of handling Corusc—Imperial Center and our long game of reining in the Moffs."

Admiral Piett and Captain Pellaeon both bowed their heads slightly in return.

"Of course, Commander Skywalker, until the morning," Firmus replied, face as neutral as ever.

The two men left Luke and Lando standing there in the stateroom. Lando immediately gravitated toward the alcohol, found a tumbler and poured himself two fingers of a particularly rare vintage of Whyren's Reserve. After taking a sip, he let out a satisfied sigh and turned his attention back to Luke. "Well, the booze alone was worth the trip," he chuckled lightly. "For Imperials they don't seem so bad," Lando commented after another small sip, then frowned. "They aren't...are they?" he asked, tapping his head with a single finger.

Luke considered the question for a long time, his hand tapping the hilt of his lightsaber in a newly acquired nervous habit. "I sense nothing overtly negative from them," he finally concluded. "I sense much of what you might expect, fear, wariness and mistrust, but they knew when they'd fulfilled my father's orders that they were boxing themselves, and the Empire, into a corner."

The dark-skinned Socorran nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I better go check on the Rogues and make sure property damage and personal injury is being kept to a minimum. At the risk of sounding overly cautious, have there been arrangements made for our protection? I sure don't want to end up on the wrong side of an 'accident' from a _friendly_ stormtrooper."

"Meewalh informed me that there were eight Noghri on board. I have Meewalh all to myself and assigned the others to watch over our ships, the Rogues, and any wandering individuals," Luke replied, giving Lando a pointed look. "Commander Cody was able to cobble together about half a company of clones to augment them to give them some respite. I'm not entirely happy about singling them out for our protection—"

"—but their unwavering faith in the chain of command is more than a little useful?" Lando finished, nodding. "Alright, good luck with your meditations, Luke. See you at 08:00."

Luke watched his friend leave the room before rubbing his temples, releasing his emotions to the Force in an attempt to ease the tension headache which had been building all day. "Father...I'd really love to know what the kriff you expected of me."

He received no reply.

* * *

 **Aboard the** _**Home One**_

Leia stared at the two objects Luke had left on her bed as if they might suddenly transform into crystal snakes at any moment. The first item a small, metallic cylinder that could only be the lightsaber hilt Luke had stolen from Grakkus. Beside the lightsaber hilt was a light-brown cube, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand and adorned with geometric shapes. At first glimpse, both objects appeared entirely unremarkable, but she knew that if Palpatine or Vader were still alive, simply igniting the lightsaber and opening the holocron would've automatically made her a threat. She was honest enough with herself to admit the idea of two such relics conveying that sort of power was heady, but there was also a code that needed to be upheld in order to wield that power without losing herself to it.

Her father had once said that those sensitive to the Force were burdened as much as they were gifted and she'd seen the truth of that in her brother's transformation over the last four years. If she took this lightsaber in hand, if she opened this holocron, what would _she_ be like in four years?

She shivered, either because of the damp air of the Mon Calamari cruiser kissing her skin or because of the apprehension that thrummed deep inside her at the sight of the two artifacts.

"Well, I think we've officially established that Luke _sucks_ at giving gifts," Han declared, coming up from behind her to put his arms around her.

Grimacing, Leia didn't disagree with him. Instead, she leaned back into his embrace, soaking in his warmth and let the silence linger as she continued to contemplate the significance of the two items' presence in her life.

"Mothma's expecting you to take her place someday," Han's stated bluntly, the comment breaking the silence that he'd obviously felt had endured for too long.

Leia let out a breath. "That's what _I_ expected, too. But I promised Luke I'd look into..." she waved a hand at the lightsaber and holocron, " _that_. Between dealing with the Moffs and the Imperial Court and having to let go of his own dream, exploring the _possibility_ of Jedi training is the _least_ I can do for him."

Han's arms tightened around her protectively and she leaned back into the warmth of his chest, determined to enjoy the embrace for as long as it lasted. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

Speaking in a low rumble into her ear, Han whispered, "If you want this, then you know I'll have your back, but don't do this if you don't want to, sweetheart. Not for Luke and _especially_ not because of Vader."

Leia nodded her understanding but didn't otherwise reply. Instead, she gripped his hand with almost bruising force. "I hope he'll be okay, he _has_ to be."

It took Han a moment to process the abrupt change of subject, but when he did, he huffed out a laugh. "The kid has made it out of some tough spots before, Leia, he'll be alright," Han assured her.

"But will he be happy?" Leia asked quietly.

Han winced. "I'm sure he'll be okay. He has the Rogues and—hey, didn't His Wrinkledness have a whole bunch of concubines? Maybe Luke was cleverer than I gave him credit for if he has _that_ waiting for him."

Leia let out a snort of disbelief. "Most of those women were just as despicable as Palpatine, Han. They'd rather kill Luke then kiss him."

With a suddenness that drew a startled squeak from her, Han twirled Leia around until they stood face to face. Tugging her to him, he bent her backwards, dipping her close to the ground. Staring into her eyes with a lopsided smile, he murmured, "Your Highnessness, haven't you realized that the best kind of romance is when your partner is trying to decide between the two?"

Smiling, Leia kissed him by way of a response. When Han pulled her back up and their mouths finally separated, Leia broke out in a soft laughter. "Honestly, Han, can you imagine Luke wanting some sort of concubine, or being hung up on some woman who wants to kill him? Luke's destined for a gentler sort; I think you're full of it, laser brain." Leia nodded decisively for a full second before suddenly pausing. Rolling her eyes, she made a face at the grinning Corellian, who stood standing with his arms crossed and with a smug expression across his face.

"Yeah, now you're thinking about it, aren't you, sweetheart?" Han crowed, tapping a finger on Leia's chest. "Luke's supernatural forgiving nature coupled with his inability to take care of himself? I'm telling you sweetheart, it's gonna happen." Han smirked, looping his thumbs into his belt, rocking on his heels and looking far too smug for Leia's taste.

Giving Han a sour look, she slapped his chest with the palm of her hand and huffed, "can we stop talking about my brother's love life now?" She poked his chest several times, just to emphasize her point

"Hah! You're so violent tonight, Your Worship, still thinking about Admiral Piett's comment about Luke needing to produce an heir?" Han teased.

Scowling at her lover, the last Princess of Alderaan slapped his chest again, with _much_ greater force this time. "Nerfherder."

* * *

 **Thirty days after BoE  
Aboard the _Chimaera  
_ En route to Imperial Center**

"One of two things will happen when we exit hyperspace," Piett repeated his earlier words, "either the Grand Admiral, or one of his subordinates, will be in control of the system and will ensure that you remain safe on our approach to the planet. The alternative is that control of the system has fallen to another and will either immediately engage in combat or demand our surrender; in this, I feel the secrecy of your presence will decide whether surrender is an option."

Luke sat comfortably in a secure suite located within the command deck of the _Chimaera_. There, Piett, Pellaeon, Lando and himself had once again engaged in a planning session that was making his head throb. He'd listened attentively, but hadn't contributed much, preferring to soak in their words before venturing out with his own thoughts.

"The last report we received from Imperial Center is that after your task force departed the system, another fleet jumped in—presumably Thrawn?" Lando paused, looking to Piett for confirmation.

Piett nodded, "that's when he was scheduled to arrive, yes."

"Well, several days later, _another_ fleet jumped in and immediately initiated an engagement with Thrawn's forces. We haven't heard anything since," Lando finished.

"We know little more than you, unfortunately." Piett grimaced. "Our last communication with the Grand Admiral was little more than a week ago which was a brief report indicating that the battle was still in progress. He positively identified the opposing fleet's commanding officer as Admiral Zsinj by the unique coloring of the Star Destroyers under his command in addition to the presence of the _Brawl_ , a Super Star Destroyer that has since been renamed the _Iron Fist_."

Luke grimaced. "An SSD? And he was _still_ in combat when he last contacted you?"

Admiral Piett gave him a steady look. "Your father was _extremely_ respectful of Thrawn's strategic and tactical acumen. I know little of their past interactions, but he made that _very_ clear in his orders."

 _So why hadn't_ he _been the one hunting the Alliance?_ Luke wondered, but elected to hold that question back until later.

"Alright, well if we're planning on jumping into what may be a hostile war zone, there aren't exactly a bevy of methods to do so safely. Either we jump into the outer edge of the system and cruise in ballistic to get a feel for the situation or we go in deeper with the guns hot," Lando shrugged. "Gotta play it by ear. What's more complicated for us is the situation in which we _aren't_ challenged."

Captain Pellaeon swiveled his chair to face the former smuggler and gave him a grudging nod of agreement. "We could alter our course and drop out of hyperspace in a nearby system, direct a _Carrack_ or corvette to reconnoiter the system and report back to us. Whatever the situation might be, however, our final destination _must_ be Imperial Center; everything hinges upon our ability to hold the capital."

"After our arrival, making a public declaration of your status and intentions will be necessary," Piett advised. "When Palpatine first declared himself Emperor, he did so with the support of the Senate, giving himself a legitimacy that many didn't bother to question."

"And with the Imperial Senate abolished, the only legitimacy you can offer is your being the son of Lord Vader," Gilad finished, nodding at Piett's statement. "Given your affiliation with the Alliance, your wanted status and the rather abrupt way Lord Vader chose to acknowledge you, that legitimacy will be highly suspect."

"So, first I must prove that I am the son of Lord Vader, prove that I was his acknowledged heir and then answer the question of timing? The first seems simple enough so long as he has _any_ medical records and this entire task force was witness to the second..." Luke trailed off.

"But answering the question of timing isn't nearly as straightforward. They, the Imperial Court, the Moffs and COMPNOR, will all want to know why you were on the Death Star during the battle. Explaining the Emperor's intentions for you when brought before him is even less simple." Lando dramatically flung his hands up. "Answering those questions without making mention of the Force will be practically impossible."

Luke frowned at him.

"The Force is a mystery understood by a mere handful of beings throughout the entire galaxy, Commander, and though I have seen its use and effects firsthand, not even I can claim any sort of real understanding," Piett explained. "To many, the few spoken tales involving the Force liken it to a dark sorcery that attracts unwanted Imperial attention. In the Empire, the Jedi are considered traitors and acknowledging yourself as one will do you no favors. Give them a practical explanation that explains the sequence of events and a reason to believe they'll be kept in power. Few would risk active opposition if they can continue to enjoy the same level of power."

Piett's explanation reminded Luke of a phrase his sister had once imparted. Echoing her words, he murmured, "The Moffs run on fear and greed."

"What they feared was your father and their greed was assuaged by gifts from the Emperor and the favor he granted them," Pellaeon agreed. "If that isn't the way you intend to rule, you had better come up with an alternative quickly."

Luke winced, closing his eyes as he considered the quandary. Sighing, he reopened his eyes and frowned. "I'd like some time to meditate upon the subject of the Moffs, so I'd prefer benching that subject for a time. Let's move on to the core planets that we need to keep, whose Moffs we need to keep loyal or...replace."

 _At least this should be simpler to work out_ , he thought gratefully.

#

 **Six hours later**

"Xa Fel?"

"They make good ships and quality ship parts, but I have reservations about their loyalty to the Empire," Piett replied to Luke's suggestion.

"Planet's a bit of a mess, right? KDY's been dumping their waste there or mismanaging it somehow?" Lando asked, an inquiring eyebrow raised in Piett's direction.

"Quite right, General. The Empire's close relationship with the Kuati has distanced the Empire from Xa Fel's favor considerably," Piett nodded.

"That's a story shared by more than a few planets, it seems," Luke observed, flicking a glance to the Noghri standing silently by the room's entrance.

"It isn't uncommon for the major manufacturing worlds to be reduced to the same state as Xa Fel or even to leave _other_ worlds in an environmental crisis as Kuat has done to Xa Fel. That, however, is an inherent problem that any company or local government has to balance with the needs of the Empire," Pellaeon replied defensively.

Luke sighed. "Except the needs of the Empire wasn't accompanied by reasonable oversight, only demands for _more_ with harsh penalties for failure."

Neither the captain nor the admiral disagreed.

They were six hours into their meeting. It'd been interesting at first, almost fun in a rather morbid way, but the novelty had worn off long ago and Luke just wanted to be _done_. With thousands of star systems to comb through, dossiers of hundreds of Moffs, the Imperial Court and the other movers and shakers of the Empire, he wanted to flush himself out of the nearest airlock and lose himself in vacuum.

The tension headache that'd been doggedly pursuing him for days had gained significant traction, evolving into a pounding headache that no amount of meditation had been able to cure. By the time they'd finished talking about Chandrila, and the political consequences of holding onto the Alliance Chief of State's homeworld, Luke had wanted nothing more than to drag his father back from the netherworld and kill him just for putting him through torture. Giving himself a mental shake, he allowed himself to tune back into the conversation.

"You'll need Korfo," Lando said, breaking the silence.

"The Imperial Bank," Piett nodded.

"And part the Commenor Run," Lando added, "with enough trade, any government can be kept afloat during times of trouble."

"Alright, add it to the list," Luke agreed quickly.

Lando gave him a _look_ and glanced over his datapad. "Perhaps Nubia and Abregado-rae," Lando suggested, "and Velusia and Cal-Seti for their role in the food trade."

Luke merely nodded.

"What about the colonies?" Pellaeon asked. "Obviously, Carida, Balmorra, Raithal and Fonder for their importance to the Imperial Army and Navy, but any others?"

Luke barely managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Though the reasoning of the older man's suggestions were undeniably sound, Luke thought it oddly stereotypical that these high-ranking Imperial officers had been hyperfocused on all things military since they'd begun mapping out the hypothetical borders of a new Empire. Aside from Imperial Center itself, it'd been Kuat, Rendili and Fresia that'd been among their first suggestions. Though the pattern was becoming tedious, Luke understood that keeping the military intact was synonymous with keeping the Empire intact; he'd quickly acquiesced with their rationale with minimal fuss.

Fresia had been a tricky proposition, almost awkward because of the presence of a large imported slave population in conjunction with the Incom Corporation's already dubious loyalty to the Empire. To the surprise of the other three men, it'd been Luke's idea that had presented a solution. In return for the company, and therefore the planet's loyalty, the company would receive tax incentives to turn the slave population into a paid working force and a trade agreement with the newly legitimized Alliance of Free Planets would be permitted. Lando had openly gaped at him after his reasoning and both Admiral Piett and Captain Pellaeon had raised their eyebrows in obvious surprise.

If he were perfectly honest with himself, he was more than a little impressed with his own idea as well. Eliminating the slave trade on a planet through monetary incentives rather than through demands stemming from moral righteousness might smooth any ruffled feathers belonging to nervous governments and corporations that likewise engaged in slavery. The trade agreement would be a welcome boost to the company's coffers _and_ to the Empire through imposed tariffs all the while providing a supply line of critically needed starfighters and ship components to the Alliance.

Even with steep tariffs, an available supply of X-Wing components would be far cheaper than purchasing through smugglers or off of the black market. The net effect would be that both the Empire and the Alliance would come out financially ahead and smuggling would become a less profitable trade, which would _also_ be a boon to the Empire. Lando had advised him, at great length, to keep such agreements limited to companies rather than planetary systems in order to maintain control and to avoid having planets distance themselves with the hope of signing onto the Alliance. The point he'd been most ardent in expounding had been the danger of being perceived as encouraging friendly interactions with the Alliance, which would immediately lose him the support of hard-line Centrists.

"...Commenor is necessary for trade. Without it, the Empire will lose a significant chunk of its commerce," Lando finished saying.

Luke blinked and struggled to refocus on the discussion.

"Agreed," Pellaeon replied.

Piett nodded.

"What about Devaron?" Luke asked suddenly, inspiration striking him.

Piett frowned, "Devaron? Why?"

"I'm not aware of any value the world has to the Empire," Pellaeon cocked his head, his mustache moving in such a way as to indicate the presence of a puzzled frown.

 _Imperials_ , Luke thought with an inward sigh of disappointment. "There's a Jedi temple there and..." Luke faltered, realizing how foolish he sounded. Searching for something else to add, memories of Farnay flickered into mind. "The locals are nice," he finished lamely.

Both Lando and the two Imperial officers looked at him as if he'd said something so appallingly stupid that he should be removed from the gene pool lest his progeny speak something equally insulting to sentient life.

Luke felt like banging his head upon the table; his farmboyish-ness was rising to the surface again. It seemed to creep a little closer every time someone spoke of _using_ a world without any real consideration for its populace. With more desperation in his voice than he'd prefer, he hurriedly suggested, "why don't we take a break for lunch?"

"Of course, Commander, do you have any preference?" Pellaeon asked, reaching for the comlink embedded in the table surface.

Blinking in surprise, Luke realized just how acclimated he'd become to having those despicable military rations as his typical fare. _It's good to be the soon-to-be Emperor, I suppose_ , he thought wryly. "Why don't we eat in the officer's mess instead? I'd like to see a little more...normality, seeing as that might become something of a rarity for me in the future."

The other three men exchanged inscrutable glances.

"Very well, Commander, as you say," Admiral Piett replied neutrally.

Despite the short, simple acknowledgement, the subtext was considerably lengthier and complex, sounding more like "Yes, why don't you make yourself readily available for assassination? As a well-known symbol of everything the higher-born officers of this ship despise, surely _that_ can't go wrong." Nevertheless, Luke remained adamant about joining whatever shipboard officers might be present.

He'd known from the very beginning that the road he'd been set upon was fraught with danger and it'd been something he'd given a great deal of thought to.

If it wasn't furious and disenfranchised Imperial personnel that he had to worry about, it was Alliance personnel whose hatred of Vader outshone rationality and the respect Luke had earned. If it wasn't the Moffs scheming to remove him from power, or as a contender for power, it was the various corporations who stood to lose billions of credits if he imposed stricter oversight over their operations. Whether it was political or personal, danger would exist in a multitude of forms originating from a multitude of sources. Despite knowing this, he refused to stay safe behind a line of bodyguards, could not hide away in the false sense of security offered by one palace or another, he would _not_ become the sequestered tyrant that Palpatine had been.

There would be a balance between safety and his visibility to the Empire, this he understood from listening to Leia's stories about being a young, idealistic princess of Alderaan before she'd joined the Imperial Senate. If he wanted the Empire to know _him,_ then it wasn't just the nobility, the elite and the aristocracy who needed to see him, it was the rank and file, too. As a Princess, she'd always enjoyed a high level of respect from the Alliance, but her willingness to commit to the role of a solider had granted her a level of loyalty from the lower ranks that few of the other political leaders of the Alliance possessed. For the sake of his own sanity and ability to cope with his new circumstances as much as for strategic reasons, he decided to begin that process _now._

To accomplish this, he needed to start small and allow a positive, or at least a less negative, reputation to propagate. Starting that process within the Imperial Navy yielded obvious benefits, but to do so, he had to be _among_ them, even if it was just through a simple meal at the Officer's mess.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I really didn't want to send Luke off on his own. I wanted to keep some part of the Alliance involved with the story, even while many of the other characters start to fade into the background. I don't believe that Leia (and thus Han) would abandon the Alliance in order to accompany Luke to Coruscant, but that separation is going to be temporary. Lando, being a fairly independent character in the Legends verse, seemed like a pretty easy choice for keeping the gang together-ish. As for the Rogues with Luke...well, I thought my reasoning _was_ sound but I really just wanted them around because they're motherfuckin' Rogue Squadron.

Things that annoy me about Star Wars fanfiction: 1) It should never be the case that you fail to spell one of the main characters' names correctly. It is not Anikan, it is not Obi won and Chewbacca is not a Wookie. Anakin, Obi-Wan, Wookiee* - Get it right!

2) Time travel stories. Don't get me wrong, I love Star Wars time travel stories. In fact, some of those stories are my top favorites. Nothing drives me more bonkers, however, when I see a story about an adult Luke going into the past and suddenly acting as if he were a five year-old. He wanted to know his parents, we got that, but when he starts sobbing, whimpering, or crawling into the bed sheets (yes, I actually just read a story where a 24 year-old Luke crawls between his parents in their bed) and otherwise acts like an clinging, emotional wreck. Grrr. I've also noticed that Luke tends to be the character whose attitude/character traits are often adjusted to his overall detriment.

3) Naming Force skills. "He used Force Jump to leap over the incoming speeder." or "He employed Force Lightning and burned so-and-so to a crisp" or "Using a burst of Force Speed, he blurred down the corridor." Whenever I come across a story that does it, it always makes me think of a video game where the author is tapping "A" in order to make a character Force Jump and "B" to use Battle Meditation to increase his companions' strength. I think Jabba's use of the phrase "Jedi mind trick" was about the closest they ever came to actually giving a name to an ability in the OT.

Yoda, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Vader, Luke...none of them ever used specific names for Force abilities, not in _any_ of the movies so far as I can remember. They were _always_ vague about using the Force, deliberately so because I think the idea of making a recipe book to label Force skills would inherently limit one's ability to think beyond them (Add 2 parts Jedi serenity, 2 parts gravity manipulation, 3 parts telekinesis and you have yourself a lovely Force Pull/Push - bleh).

*Caveat: I believe in the waning days of Legends canon in the NJO, LotF and FotJ series that the practice of naming abilities became more common as Jacen explored the other Force philosophies/groups. *Caveat #2: My knowledge isn't so vast to include Star Wars: Clone Wars or Rebels.

/rant


	10. Chapter Nine

**— The Will of the Empire —**

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 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Egad! I can't believe it's been a month to the day since my last update. I am so sorry that it took me so long, folks! I hope everyone (Americans, not British) had a lovely fourth of July. Anyhow, work got a little crazy and I was struggling to push out that Thor's Slayers chapter, but now that it's done I can bring my focus back to Will of the Empire. You can expect several more chapters before I turn back to TS and also that they'll be released on a more frequent, regular schedule.

Notifications about this chapter: 1) The bulk of this chapter will be geared more toward character (primarily Luke) development with slightly less emphasis on chapter progression/story movement. That being said, I believe you'll be quite satisfied with the way the chapter turns out. 2) Slight warning, there's going to be a bit of a racy scene toward the middle of the chapter. It's quick and barely/not explicit but it does kind of sneak up on you.

As always, thank you for your feedback/reviews; they truly help me with my writing. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **###**

 _"I'm not exactly_ little miss wallflower _, Wes, but I'll make you a deal. I won't beat on any of the resident scum unless they hit me first—or they pick on my friends—or I feel like it!"_  
 _— Plourr Ilo_

 **#**

 **Thirty-four days after BoE  
About the _Chimaera  
_ En route to Imperial Center**

Luke took long, purposeful strides down the otherwise empty, grey corridor, doing his best to ignore the trio of stormtroopers following at his heels. Since arriving aboard the _Chimaera_ , he'd mused to himself more than once how odd it felt to be around stormtroopers who _didn't_ have the intention of arresting or blasting away at him. It was a disconcerting thing, that queer sense of reluctant obedience they offered him and it was something he knew he'd have to acclimate to sooner rather than later. Yet despite his awareness of their presence and their reasons for being there, he still had the urge to look over his shoulder every few steps as the echo of plasteel-clad boots marching in unison rang from behind.

Clearing his mind of the stormtroopers whose obedience to Pellaeon _barely_ outweighed their animosity toward him, Luke again considered the situation he was about to confront. Arriving at another intersection, Luke's thought process was stymied as he struggled to recall the ship's layout. He waited half a beat before turning to the left. A quiet cough from behind made Luke's face heat in embarrassment and he turned on his heels to go the opposite direction.

 _Whoever designed the internal structure of the Star Destroyer was a real prick,_ he thought annoyed. It was true there were the occasional floor maps available along the walls and he could've looked at his datapad, but he was doing his best to memorize the layout, if for no other reason than to impress doubtful crewman. He'd been getting better, but he was still about 50/50 on the more unfamiliar parts of the ship, which unfortunately was most of the ship. At least the stormtroopers at his back found his impression of being the "Little Lost Bantha Cub" to be a point of amusement rather than derision. It wasn't exactly respect, but he'd take what he could get.

In truth, the first few years with the Alliance where he'd behaved in a similarly naive and clueless way had inured him from most forms of ridicule. Besides, they'd stopped laughing once he'd started dangling them in the air through the Force, so there was that. Perhaps it wasn't the most responsible application of that wondrous, mystical power that was the Force, but damn if it hadn't shut them up. He shook his head of fond memories of dangling Hobbie in the air and continued on his way.

#

Ten minutes, two turbolift rides and two navigational failures later found Luke staring at four stuncuffed and battered individuals sitting, or rather _sulking_ , in one of the _Chimaera_ 's larger detention cells.

Hearing the door to the detention level swish open, Luke glanced behind his shoulder to see Baron Fel and Wedge walking side by side to join him. Together, the single Imperial and two Alliance officers stared through the transparent wall of the detention cell as if they were studying a fascinating animal at the zoo.

"So, what are we going to do with these degenerates?" Wedge finally asked.

"We could space the lot," Luke suggested gravely, stroking his chin contemplatively, "but I think space would actually spit Janson _back_ onto the ship if we tried."

Wes Janson, who'd actually been _gagged_ by some thoughtful security officer, glared at him behind a broken nose and a bruised jaw. Plourr Ilo, on the other hand, was grinning wildly, showing none of the soreness her black eye and bruised left cheek should've been causing her. They were each restrained to a metal chair but still somehow gave off the impression that they were wavering drunkenly in place. The other two sharply dressed individuals, at least one of whom was a member of the 181st, looked scarcely better but _did_ look genuinely contrite.

One pilot, the one who wore the squadron patch of the 181st, swallowed audibly. "Colonel, I take full responsibility for—"

Janson began speaking loudly, words obscured by the gag.

Plourr, on the other hand, was happy to translate for Janson. "See, it's _his_ fault. We're innocent, Commander, we're being completely framed by these kriffin' Imps! He admitted it!"

Wedge turned away, coughing slightly to conceal his amusement.

"You lead these…people into battle?" Colonel Fel asked aloud, appalled.

"They grow on you after a while," Luke replied wryly.

"We're like a vicious, persistent and—" Plourr began.

Wes issued out a series of loud mumbles.

Plourr frowned, "I was getting to that, Janson. You've got a pretty face, so you'd be served better if you were seen and _not_ heard, so stuff it. Anyway, like I was saying, we're a vicious, persistent, dashing and beautiful form of fungus. Just give us a chance, Fel and we'll grow on you."

Soontir wore the expression of a man who'd smelled something rotten and wanted to toss it out the airlock.

"Well, gentlemen?" Wedge prompted again.

"Major…" Luke paused, giving the 181st pilot a questioning look.

"Phennir, Turr Phennir," the blonde-haired man replied immediately.

"Major Phennir, unless the Colonel has any objections, you and—" Luke paused, glancing at the Baron by his side.

Colonel Fel bent his head toward Luke and informed him in a quiet voice, "Major Mianda, Squadron Leader of the Scythes."

Luke nodded his thanks."—you and Major Mianda will be free to leave in a moment, provided that I have your assurance that this will not happen again."

Both men stiffened. "Of course, Commander Skywalker, Colonel Fel."

"Finally!" Plourr exclaimed. "These chairs are as uncomfortable and…and… _grey_ just like everything else on this damn boat!"

Wedge grinned evilly. "I think I have a better plan for you two."

Plourr's smile dimmed and she turned wide, pleading eyes to Luke.

Luke held his hands up in protest. "Unlike these two upstanding majors of the Imperial Navy, I know the two of you well enough that it _will_ happen again and will likely have an even unhappier conclusion _._ Go ahead, Wedge."

Wedge strode forward until he stood opposite Plourr and Wes from the other side of the cell's entrance. "Lieutenants Janson and Ilo, you are to remain in this cell for the next 12 hours to sober up, to think about your contemptible deeds. You are then to serve as the personal servants of our esteemed colleagues, Majors Phennir and Mianda, until such time as this task force reaches the capital."

Plourr's narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

The commanding officer of Rogue Squadron raised a single, imperious eyebrow and turned slowly toward Colonel Fel. "Baron, does this arrangement suit you?"

Soontir Fel glanced back and forth between the blank-faced Imperial officers to the horrified X-Wing pilots. "While this method of punishment is rather…unique, I cannot argue that the extremity of the punishment is well-suited to their willingness to engage in conduct so unbecoming of an officer. Yes, Commander Antilles, I am more than satisfied with this arrangement."

#

"Fierfek!" Plourr cursed to her single cellmate. "This is the _last_ time I go along with one of your ideas."

Janson issues indistinct mumbles from behind his gag.

"No, no, Janson. I clearly remember mixing various forms of alcohol and stiff-necked Imperials as being _your_ idea. This is all _your_ fault."

A groan erupted from the Tanaabian pilot.

"We'll agree to disagree, then." Plourr shrugged. "For the record, if I'm going to be anyone's 'servant' then I call dibs on Phennir. That uptight prig might be kung, Janson, but he's definitely beddable. Nothing works miracles between the sheets like a little anger and barely restrained violence. And that lovely major, oh yeah, he has a serious hate-on for Rebels. It's going to be fantastic!"

Another groan.

Frowning at the man, Plourr huffed. "Of course, I'm joking, bantha brains! Why the hell would I let an _Imp_ touch me? I'd vape the bastard first—" Plourr paused, head canted to the side. "Or maybe I'd vape him _during_ just for the thrill, you know? Eh, that's a little grotesque even for me."

Wes grimaced but still managed to roll his eyes and glare at her.

"Kriff off! I can talk about my sex life all I want and nothing you say…" Plourr cut off sharply, turning away. After a moment, she continued speaking, but in a quieter more introspective tone, "maybe Kirst was right. Maybe I don't have to be the big old badass all the time. Don't have to be heartless _all the time._ So much has changed recently, Janson, just look where we are now! So…maybe I can change too, you know? Be more empathetic. Maybe…"

The Eiattuan turned her head toward Janson's, eyes wide and shimmering. "Maybe I _can_ change. So, Wes, just say the word, and I'll stop talking about these _terrible_ things."

Groaning even louder, Janson mumbled furiously from behind his gag.

"Well, Wes? Do you think I can change?" she cooed.

Janson nodded vigorously.

"That I _should_ change?" she cooed.

The nodding continued.

"Just say the word…"

A moment of leg kicking, nodding and furious mumbling passed while Plourr waited for a response. When the reply never came, the bald woman sighed contentedly and shrugged a shoulder, "Huh, guess not, so you _do_ want to know about my exploits, eh? Can't say as I blame you."

Wes mumbled an unintelligible word.

Plourr nodded seriously before she let out a delighted laugh, "So let me tell you about these two Zeltrons who kept me locked up in their flat for a solid week on Denon. Now, mind you, this was a long time ago when I was still on the run, but what I lacked in experience they more than made up for in stamina. The last day they kept me tied down, I woke up to Yssylr—a little she-devil whose skin was the loveliest shade of purple, was between my legs doing this thing to me with her tongue. Meanwhile, Rahkul was behind her—and let me tell you, Wes, he had the biggest damn…"

Janson moaned in despair.

* * *

 **The next day**

"Is the communications blackout still in effect on Imperial Center?" Luke asked into the silence of the gym. Meditating upon a grey sparring mat, his words echoed in a room that'd been vacant only moments before. Though he had difficulty letting go of his turbulent emotions, his reward for successfully doing so was the serenity and calm he found only in meditation. That peacefulness must seem utterly alien aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer and his atypical uniform likely contributed to that _otherness_ that even fellow Alliance members had begun to find disconcerting. Wearing his freshly laundered, black Jedi uniform, he sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, back straight and palms face-up upon his knees.

Immersed in the Force as he was, he'd felt the admiral's presence the moment he'd entered the room as well as the man's reticence to disturb him. It was more than just reticence, however, for Luke also sensed a thread of anxiety, maybe even fear emanating from the older man. Luke winced, maybe it wasn't the uniform that others found odd…maybe, just maybe, it _might_ be something else about his meditations that was unnerving.

On the heels of that thought, an old power coupling rose from the ground and moved smoothly through the air, performing a small rotation around his body before it began rising into the air. A heartbeat later and it finished its upward flight and joined the rest of the field of mechanical knick-knacks that hovered ten feet in the air, spiraling around him as if he were the center of the galaxy.

 _That_ thought nearly made him lose his concentration, the knowledge that his metaphor might soon become much more literal doing little to aid him in his meditations. Letting go of his thoughts of the future, he released his feelings into the Force and continued manipulating the spiral of mechanical parts.

There was a marked pause before the admiral responded, the admiral's words entirely unanticipated by Luke.

"I did not serve under your father for very long, but I was witness to his use of the Force on more than one occasion. When I was an observer to such displays, Lord Vader's application of the Force were either a matter of practicality or because he was enraged," Admiral Piett replied quietly. "Though I never saw him do anything like what you're doing, I do believe he performed his own type of meditations in the privacy of his life support chamber. There was one exception, however, which occurred shortly after your encounter at Bespin."

A number of the items swimming lazily through the air around Luke dipped alarmingly at the reference to that terrible day. Breathing out, he forced a neutral, "Oh?"

There was only one instance where I found him using it for any other reason. He was doing an exercise much like this," Admiral Piett finally replied, the non sequitur taking Luke off guard. "I had expected to die when the _Millennium Falcon_ jumped into hyperspace, taking you with it. But Lord Vader's silence, oh Commander, his silence was so much more terrifying than the rage I'd expected. It took me several hours to work up the courage to approach him, to apologize for my failure and, if I lived, to ask for new orders. However, it was not his personal chambers or any of the briefing rooms that I found him in, rather it was the hanger where he was studying the X-Wing you'd left on Cloud City."

When Luke made no response, Piett continued.

"Your father held a hand against the nose of your ship with his head down. Several parts of the X-Wing were circulating in the air much as they're doing now from your efforts. At the time, I'd believed he was enraged at losing you just when you were within his grasp. It was only later that I realized that the parts weren't being subconsciously levitated as a result of his fury as sometimes happened, but that he was actually repairing your X-Wing, modifying it, possibly."

Luke's eyes opened and he couldn't help the little hitch in his breath. "Well, seeing as you're here, healthy and alive, what _did_ he say?" After a short pause, he belatedly and bashfully added, "And do you know what happened to my X-Wing?"

"When Lord Vader deigned to acknowledge my presence in mid-apology, it was merely to inform me that my captaincy was being relegated back to the _Accuser._ I did not dare stay any longer, Commander, and that was the last I saw of your father and of your X-Wing for some time. As for your X-Wing, I'm afraid I'm not sure. To the best of my knowledge, it wasn't aboard the _Executor—_ " Piett paused, face taking on a pained expression, "—during the battle. If I were to guess, Lord Vader had it moved to one of his private holdings to be placed among his…collections."

Luke, still facing away from the admiral as he concentrated on the still growing field of parts, narrowed his eyes. "Holdings? Collections?"

"Lord Vader had many personal holdings that you've since inherited, Commander. Surely you don't believe that his living arrangements involved moving from one subordinate's couch to another?" Piett replied blandly.

Luke's back straightened even more. "Was that a joke, Admiral Piett?"

"We Imperials strive not to have a sense of humor."

Shaking his head with a soft laugh, Luke closed his eyes again. "I've seen my father's palace on Imperial Center from afar when we were leveling Prince Xizor's own palace, but I hadn't thought about him having any others or even of inheriting them. I suppose I'll look into that when we arrive. Now, you've managed to avoid my original question: the communication blackout."

"Ah, yes, of course. Unfortunately, our attempts to reach Imperial Center remain fruitless."

Luke nodded, not thrilled with the news but not particularly surprised either. With a sigh, he studied the field of objects float about him until he frowned as something tickled his mind. Luke extended his senses, found what had called to him and brought the stormtrooper to him. Keeping the helmet levitating in front of him, Luke narrowed his focus and studied the object closely, looking for the oddity he'd detected.

"Commander?"

 _Smaller_. _Smaller_. _Smaller. Concentrate. Luminous beings are we, now focus beyond this crude matter to something smaller._

He heard the admiral ask him a question but Luke couldn't answer. He was far too invested in…whatever it was he saw. Or what he thought he saw, or what he might not be seeing. Or maybe what he felt? He resisted the urge to rub his head to prevent the oncoming headache and instead let go of conscious thought…

Luke _focused_ upon his essence, his sense of self shrinking to the extent that the smallest of lines marking the manufacturing of the plasteel helmet were clearly visible.

 _Smaller._

The helmet rotated in front of him and his focus shifted as it did so, studying it and looking for what had called to him—

 _There!_

There were many cracks in the helmet, all a byproduct of the process used to create the helmet, coming together to not only keep the helmet together but to strengthen it. But this crack…this crack was different though. It touched the artificial cracks in the plasteel but was a natural, unintended fault of the material. It was this crack that had tugged on his awareness, but why?

 _Breath. Beyond your flesh, your consciousness must be._

The cracks which had been growing larger were now deep chasms which Luke waded through, walking through them as he might a canyon on Tatooine. With every step, he examined his surroundings, whether it was the crack, the plasteel that loomed on every side, or the air above him as though he were looking back upon himself. The perception of the plasteel's uniformity had been significantly diminished, the white paint now chipped and corroded from his new vantage point. Beneath him, the crack that he traversed was jagged and uneven unlike the other smoothly cut, interlocking lines.

Why had this called out to him? What was its importance? Whether it was a design flaw or the result of damage, it wouldn't hamper its function to any noticeable extent. So why?

He continued navigating the crack, his awareness following the winding fault line through the cellular structure of the helmet surrounding him. It felt like he'd been walking for weeks before he saw what had called out to him: a nexus of tiny interlocking lines that were the seams of the helmet's manufacturing process. An artificial hub where the individually fragile pieces were fused together to become something so much stronger. Every line that joined the hub had been deliberately fashioned to connect here, an ingenuity of engineering that he'd never have appreciated until now. However, it wasn't all the lines intended to connect that had caught his attention, it was the flaw, the fault that exposed a weakness far more significant than he'd originally believed.

Why would this speak to him? The answer continued to elude him.

The Force didn't exactly administer learning exercises without a deeper purpose, but maybe Master Yoda had something to do with it. Given the venerable Jedi's recent tutelage of the Art of the Small, it wasn't difficult to see the connection to this exercise. He considered that for a moment. Master Yoda had taught him of the concept, of the philosophy of the Art of the Small, but had kept his instructions vague aside from learning to attain such a state. Knowing his master's penchant for forcing him to think for himself, to open his mind to the Force and the possibilities it granted, he forced himself to remember Yoda's words.

It seemed a failing among many of the Jedi, Yoda had told him, that the formal instruction provided within the walls of the Jedi Temple would inherently limit their perception of their limits. That wasn't to say they were weak, of course, or that they were unable to overcome such a mental block, but it was another reminder that the Force was not a series of skills requiring a magic word to use. The Force _flowed,_ and it was a Force-sensitive's internal fortitude, faith and imagination that opened a Jedi to its current.

Somewhere, far off in the distance, Luke could hear the voice of the admiral but couldn't discern the words. They seemed muted, distorted as if he were underwater. Hoping to stall the admiral, Luke withdrew and raised a sluggish hand in a staying gesture. When the admiral quieted, Luke delved deeper once again.

 _Smaller_.

He'd discovered this weakness through the ability the diminutive Jedi spirit was helping him master, but how would that help him? His ability to narrow his focus, to shift his consciousnesses so that it perceived the universe differently; how did it, _could_ it somehow be applied?

Bringing his awareness to his physical body, he extended a finger from his flesh hand to brush against the helmet's weakness, immediately narrowing his focus as he did so. He was minuscule now, examining the way the cells around the flaw shuddered under the pressure of his finger in a way they didn't elsewhere.

A flaw in any construction presented a weakness and enough applied force could exploit that weakness when the object would normally be safe from catastrophic damage. That was a universal concept that applied to everything, so how could he use that fault here?

Luke let a finger hover over the helmet's flaw, occasionally brushing against it, testing it, _feeling_ it. It seemed impossible, but he'd learned better than to use _that_ word even in his internal monologues. Luke stilled his body, keeping the awareness of both body and spirit while levitating the motionless helmet in front of him. Carefully withdrawing his finger, his took a moment to concentrate before he jabbed the weak point with his index finger.

He opened his eyes and watched the helmet expectantly, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Sighing, he slowly lowered the various objects hovering around him onto the floor and opened his eyes. Luke blew out a gusty sigh, looking down into the black, opaque lenses of the stormtrooper helmet now resting in front of him.

"Commander Skywalker?"

Luke blinked, shook his head and looked over his shoulder at an audience larger than it had been just a few minutes ago. At some point, Wedge, Lando and Meewalh had entered the small gym and were standing at Admiral Piett's side, looking at him with varying degrees of concern.

Blinking tiredly, Luke frowned at the newcomers. "When did you guys come in?"

"I'm not sure what was so attractive about that helmet," Lando shrugged, "but Wedge and I came in about an hour ago while you were fondling it."

Lando gave him a toothy grin, "It must've been some helmet because you've been doing it ever since. You were so lost in its beautiful black lenses that you didn't even hear the admiral ask if you wanted the room to yourself."

A loud 'crack' suddenly echoed in the small gym, resulting in a hold-out blaster, two blaster pistols, the distinctive scythelike weapon of the Noghri and a lightsaber all being drawn in a rush.

The four men and Noghri all pointed their weapons toward the source of the noise with quizzical frowns.

Another crack sounded, followed by another and another until visible lines appeared on the helmet that continued to spread and deepen. Flakes of white paint and plasteel began falling around the helmet, joined shortly after by larger chunks of plasteel and the softer material found in the helmet's interior. The sound was akin to that produced by stepping on eggshells, steadily growing in rapidity and volume until, with one last sharp report, the helmet shattered entirely.

What had once been an intact stormtrooper helmet now lay in a neat circle as a pile of debris.

"I don't know how good it was for you, Luke, but evidently the helmet found the experience world-shattering," Lando murmured, his voice loud in the sudden silence left by the helmet's destruction.

Wedge nodded solemnly. "It must've been all broken up because of your absence once we _finally_ had your attention."

"Children," Piett holstered his hold-out blaster and gave the two men a disgusted look. "The Rebellion is staffed by _children_."

Putting his own blaster pistol in his side holster, Lando ignored the glowering admiral and mournfully added, "Without you, it just fell to pieces."

If possible, the ramrod straight admiral grew even stiffer, glaring the former smuggler.

Luke heard Piett's barely audible stream of invective and cringed at the venom in the man's tone; Lando and Wedge weren't really _that_ bad. Thinking over that internal declaration for a moment, Luke grudgingly agreed with the older man's assessment. Yes, they _were_ that bad.

Luke moved to stand up, felt the world sway beneath him and decided that remaining seated was a perfectly fine idea. He slowly rotated his body around to face the other four individuals and focused on the Imperial officer. "I'm afraid you were trying to ask or tell me something, Admiral, I apologize for letting my attention wander." Luke hesitated then plowed on, "Were you waiting long?"

"Just under two hours in total, Commander Skywalker. Those who interrupted Lord Vader's meditations ran the risk of incurring his wrath and though I don't believe you would respond as he would, I do understand that meditation is essential to those in tune with the Force, on either side it would seem."

Wedge and Lando gave Piett an identical look of disbelief.

Piett, seeing their stare, offered them a thin smile. "It is truly impressive what one learns when one remains silent and observes rather than by speaking excessively without ever saying anything."

"General Calrissian, I think we've been insulted," Wedge stage-whispered, tapping the other man's chest.

Luke ignored them, focusing on Firmus Piett. "My apologies, Admiral, I didn't know…" He faltered, unsure of how to explain what had just happened.

"Something new, huh?" Wedge guessed.

Luke nodded mutely and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly while Wedge spoke with Piett about his ongoing training in the Force. "So, what brings you all here?" he asked, once Wedge had finished.

"Well," Lando drawled, giving him a chiding look, "the good admiral contacted Wedge and I when he couldn't…wake you. So, we've been waiting here ever since."

"And coming up with suggestive lines, apparently," Luke stated blandly.

"You must've cared an awful lot about that helmet," Wedge smiled beatifically, "but obviously it was a little _too_ attached to you because it just fell apart without your warm, comforting presence."

Piett muttered something unkind under his breath.

"So, you killed the helmet by poking it?" Lando asked.

Luke glanced back at the pile and shrugged. "I was meditating when you came in, Admiral, thinking about a concept my master had been teaching me and I was trying to find other ways of applying it. I found a flaw in the helmet, a tiny, minuscule point that, with a small amount of force, would cause the whole thing to shatter. I thought I was just imagining it…"

Admiral Piett cleared his throat. "If you're finished with your…exercises, we have more planning to do for our arrival. We'll be arriving in the Coruscant system in approximately 16 hours."

"Of course," Luke replied. He uncrossed his legs slowly and managed to stand before he began swaying in place. His body was suddenly stabilized when Meewalh grabbed him bodily to keep him still, hissing in obvious disapproval.

"Luke!"

Luke waved off Wedge's cry of alarm. "I'm just…whatever I did, that really took a lot out of me. I just need to take a seat for a moment."

A nearby crate that'd been hovering in midair only moments before was pushed over to him by the combined efforts of Lando and Wedge.

"Thanks, guys."

"Of course, Lord Vader," the Noghri replied.

Wedge shook his head, the Corellian looking oddly bemused. "That'll take a long time to get used to, as in _never_. I feel like looking over my shoulder everything one of them calls you that."

Piett made an odd face; the Axxilan wasn't one to gossip, not even about deceased superiors, but it was apparent that he was in full agreement with Wedge's statement. "Take the time you need to recover, Commander. Skywalker, I'll leave you to your comrades and inform Captain Pellaeon that our meeting will have to be postponed."

Slumping in relief, Luke gave the admiral a tired smile. "Thank you, Admiral Piett, I'm sorry for disrupting the schedule."

"I highly doubt that, Commander, nevertheless it _is_ important that we settle as many details as possible before we arrive at Imperial Center and its…distractions."

"That's an interesting euphemism for a war zone, Admiral," Lando observed with a raised eyebrow.

Piett didn't respond, he merely straightened, offered Luke a respectful bow of his head and made for the exit in a crisp stride.

Once he'd left, Wedge knelt in front of Luke, one arm braced against his shoulder to help keep him from keeling over, the Corellian's face a picture of concern. "Luke…that was very impressive, but you know as well as I do that there are easier ways of breaking stormtrooper helmets."

Lando chuckled, nodding toward the pile of helmet fragments. "Can't argue with the thoroughness, though. It's a pretty neat trick; you've really never done that before?"

Luke slowly shook his head and slumped even further.

"Usually you come out of meditation looking a little chipper than you did going into it; this really did take a lot out of you, didn't it?" Wedge asked.

"Yeah," he rasped. "I need to get some rest, _real_ rest this time."

The other two men glanced at each other. "I'll get the quartermaster to bring down a cot and some blankets," Lando promised him. "You're not walking anywhere and I doubt you want to be carried out."

Luke nodded again.

Wedge withdrew his arm as he reached for his comlink, "I'm going to contact Tycho and Will and get them to bring Cody and a few of his boys, give me a sec—Whoa!"

In the absence of the support provided by Wedge's arm, Luke had started to slump forward until he began to teeter from his position. Feeling as though he were far removed from his body, he didn't even react when arms, corded with muscle, enveloped him to prevent his fall to the deck. His eyes now entirely closed, Luke's final muzzy thoughts before falling into unconsciousness was his surprise at how warm Meewalh's skin felt and how grateful he was that the Noghri warrior was able to keep her wickedly sharp claws from piercing his skin.

* * *

 **Five weeks after BoE  
Imperial Center  
Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

Wrenga Jixton grumbled to himself as he brought his small freighter to a smooth landing at the Eastport docking facility in the Manarai Heights. In the past, he might've been able to land directly at Uncle D's palace or _at least_ the Central District spaceport, but doing the former now would attract far too much attention and doing the latter would be just as risky due to the heightened security on the planet. His one saving grace had been that the code clearances he'd accumulated over time from Uncle D remained valid and, so far, hadn't attracted any untoward attention.

Nevertheless, knowing that his efforts to evade attention had increased the amount of distance he had to cover was making him decidedly grumpy. Making things worse were the loud and _constant_ speeder horns sounding off both far and near in the ever-present congestion of planetary traffic. Every spike in the cacophony made his muscles twitch in reflex, giving him the constant fight or flight sensation that was quickly wearing thin. Apparently, traffic on Imperial Center was something of a constant in the universe, like gravity or entropy; not even the battle that had recently raged in the system or on the planet appeared to have significantly diminished it. And then there were the stormtroopers…

The overabundance of the Empire's infamous white-armored shock troops was yet another unwelcome sight, and yes, he was more than aware of the irony given his original career as a combat instructor at Carida. However, it'd been a long time since he'd been Gunnery Sergeant Wrenga Jixton, loyal soldier of the Empire, and he'd since seen the Empire from all sorts of unflattering perspectives. His role in the sterilization of a major Falleen population center and his subsequent court-martial and imprisonment on Kessel had only been the first of many. A second realization had spawned his specific derision for stormtroopers, and whatever incompetent scum were masquerading as instructors, for their inability to blast the broad side of a duracrete wall.

Seeing them always left a bitter taste in his mouth and on Imperial Center…we'll he'd just have to get used to it.

 _Ugh, I hate Imperial Center. Karking Uncle D and his stupid, wonderful credits. Hopefully, his kid—_ Jixton musings ground to a halt as he stood up from the pilot's chair and collected his gear from one of the freighter's few cabins. _Would that make the kid his cousin? Cousin L? Cousin S? Uncle D 2.0?_

The brawny Corellian sighed; things had been so much simpler when there had only been one adopted family member to keep track of.

Having collected his necessities, he lowered the ramp and descended from the _DeepWater_. During his approach to Imperial Center, he hadn't seen any of the ships that typically made up Death Squadron so he had to assume the good admiral hadn't yet arrived with Cousin L.

 _Ugh, that's rubbish._

There _was_ always the possibility that Skywalker might not actually take up his father's offer, but the information he'd collected on the kid in the past hadn't suggested he was the kind of person to cut off his nose to spite his face. The Alliance leaders were far more pragmatic than most Imperials were willing to believe and at least _some_ of them would learn the truth about the kid and seek to take advantage of it. They might appear painfully idealistic, but they weren't idiots, a fact well-proven by their survival and victories over the past years.

Uncle D had believed that Cousin Skywalker—

Jix tilted his head as he passed his credit chit to the Spaceport Authority officer. _Eh, Cousin Skywalker…it'll do for now._

He nodded politely at the bored-looking officer's warnings of unrest in the area and continued on his way to the terminal.

Uncle D had believed that Skywalker _would_ accept the legacy passed down to him and Jix would have to operate on the assumption that Vader had been correct. _When_ Skywalker came, he would go where, the palace? His father's palace? The Jedi Temple?

The Corellian shivered involuntarily, he hoped it wasn't the Jedi Temple; the place was…unnerving. Even though the Jedi Temple would be just as, if not more guarded than any of the palaces, Skywalker _would_ be more accessible because he wouldn't have to contend with the labyrinth of the palaces' interiors. Nevertheless, the idea was unappealing. He'd seen the inside of the temple before and it was…

Jix shivered again. Regardless of his preferences, the Jedi Temple would have to be under observation along with every other known holding that belonged to Vader.

 _Accessibility is key when planning a break-in,_ he had to remind himself, _even if the target is the temple_. For some reason, Imperial security didn't like it when he tried to access secure areas, even when he had code cylinders provided by Uncle D himself.

Glancing down, he took stock of his chest, bare other than the tanned leather vest and a necklace upon which a single, daggerlike tooth swung in time with his movements. Continuing his evaluation of his appearance, he glanced past his dirty, rough-hewn pants to the durasteel-toed heavy boots. Completing the ensemble was a holstered blaster and a prominently displayed vibroblade.

Jix couldn't imagine why security _always_ tried to bar his way, he looked perfectly presentable.

* * *

 **Five weeks after BoE  
About the _Chimaera  
_ En route to Imperial Center**

"Lieutenant, oh Lieutenant? I require your services."

"Are you kriffing serious? We'll be arriving at Coruscant in just a few hours and you're _still_ trying to milk this?"

"Imperial Center, I believe you meant to say." Giving the bald woman a condescending smile, Turr Phennir beckoned her with a crooked finger. "I've found hard labor to be something you Rebels are exceptionally good at, no need to waste the time we have, _Lieutenant._ "

Plourr Ilo fumed, turning murderous eyes on her new 'master'. She was the rightful heir to the Eiattuan throne and here she was playing scullery maid to a pretty-boy Imperial brat. _The next time I see Skywalker I'm going to give him a lesson in pain; and not the good kind of pain either._

Standing up from the comfortable chair he'd _oh so graciously_ allowed her to use during her periodic off time, she continued to glare at the blond man, hands twitching in their eagerness to find a throat to squeeze.

Turr lounged on his freshly laundered sheets and held up his boots with a smug smile. "I don't believe the cleaning you gave them earlier was thorough enough. These are part of the standard uniform for Imperial officers and they deserve to be treated as such. Again, and do be thorough this time."

Giving the Imperial major a flat stare, Plourr Ilo stalked toward them and yanked the boots from his hand. The boots still appeared as well-maintained as they had when she'd finished the day before; the black synthleather footwear gleamed without there being so much as a speck of dust upon them. Glancing from the boots to Phennir and back again, she made a quick decision and spat on them and threw them back at his face.

"There, I treated them as they deserve!" she hissed, "and isn't it funny how the rest of your crumbling Empire is about get tossed away just like those karking boots!"

Major Phennir slapped one of the boots aside and got a toe to the jaw from the other. Face blotchy with anger, he rose from the bed and jabbed a finger at her, "You filthy Rebel piffer, how dare—"

Plourr's hand grasped the major's accusing finger and snapped it with a twist of her hand. Ignoring his pained yell, she stepped toward him and swung her fist into the Imperial officer's gut. Following up on her attack, she drew back her fist and launched a second punch that clipped Phennir's chin in a vicious uppercut.

The force of the blows punches forced the major to stagger backwards with a cry of pain, but his momentum changed when he backed into the bed, sending him stumbling forward. Plourr grinned and prepared to clothesline him but had evidently misjudged Turr's ability to recover.

Turr managed to hold himself back and slapped her arm down before slamming his own fist into her eye. Then it was his turn to land a punch in her stomach, forcing a harsh gasp from her mouth. Then he grabbed her by the throat, squeezing tightly as he lifted her just enough to give him the leverage to throw her down onto the deck with a powerful chokeslam.

Letting a flurry of hacking coughs and harsh gasps of air as she attempted to recover, Plourr retained enough presence of mind to hook her legs into Turr's and yank him onto the floor. With a startled yelp, the man landed roughly on the deck immediately next to Plourr, who grinned and used the opportunity to slam her elbow into Phennir's nose, eliciting a grunt of pain and the crack of bone breaking.

"You karking bitch!"

Plourr cackled but her laugh was abruptly cut short when the TIE pilot slammed one of the discarded shoes into her head.

Turr Phennir snarled and rolled over on top of her, wrapping both hands around her throat and _squeezed_. The unexpected retaliation stayed his hand, freezing him in position and forcing a gasp to escape his mouth as a slim, feminine hand reached past his waist and clamped down upon the most sensitive part of the body. Almost too frightened to breathe, he stared into the blazing eyes of Plourr Ilo and became startling aware of their proximity and position.

 _Oh._

"Huh, well, Skywalker's the only one I know who has a lightsaber so you must get your rocks off by hitting women, huh, _Major,_ " the bald woman grinned and leaned off the ground to press her head next to Phennir's. Giving his hardened flesh another firm squeeze, she pressed her lips close to his ear and whispered, "I feel the same way about you Imps."

Another squeeze.

"If you ever tell anyone about this," Plourr whispered softly, "I will rip your dick off and feed it to Riv."

The growl in Phennir's voice was different this time, a little deeper, huskier in its delivery. "Likewise."

Plourr Ilo let her head fall back to give him a quizzical look, then looked down the length of her body with a thorough once over before giving him a raised eyebrow.

Phennir followed her gaze and rolled his eyes, "Stang! You know what I mean."

Carefully pressing more of his weight against her, still excruciatingly aware of the death grip with which she now held him in, he withdrew his uninjured hand from her throat and began kneading one of her breasts, quickly hardening the nipple hidden beneath her loose clothing. Then, still maintaining eye contact, reached further down and lightly stroked the juncture between her legs, mirroring the position she held him in. Giving her a heated stare, he leaned even closer and ordered softly, "Now, _Lieutenant_ , be a good girl and either use that hand to finish the job or release me so that we might make a proper go of it on the bed."

Turr gasped when the hand that was clamped around him tightened painfully, but he retaliated by increasing the pressure of his own strokes, drawing a gasp from her. The hand holding his flesh relaxed and began stroking him in a slow, lazy rhythm.

"I'd be careful if I were you; I still intend on breaking a few more of your bones when we're finished here. And on that note, I think I'm happy staying just where we are," she murmured, nipping his ear hard enough to draw a hiss of pain from the major.

Baring her teeth, Plourr idly spat out some blood before reaching out and ripping at the shirt she'd so recently cleaned for him. Withdrawing her hand from his flesh, she grabbed a tuft of blond hair from the back of his head to yank him toward her, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that had nothing to do with affection or respect and everything to do with lust and passion.

* * *

 **Thirty-six days after BoE  
Revisse orbit  
Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

"Captain, the fleet has dropped out of hyperspace at the designated waypoint near the first planet in the system. The task force should be assembled and in an orbital position around the planet of Revisse in approximately 20 minutes," one of the bridge's navigation officers reported with a crisp, professional tone.

"Very good, Ensign," Pellaeon acknowledged gruffly. Turning to the admiral, Gilad gave the Axxilan an expectant look.

"Direct the _Nemesis, Stormhawk_ and the _Relentless_ to launch their fighter compliments. Have the _Nemesis_ 's fighters fly as escorts and direct the _Stormhawk_ and the _Relentless_ to establish a screen between our position and Imperial Center. Inform Major Mianda that Scythe Squadron is to conduct preliminary reconnaissance of the system and to ascertain the status of the capitol if possible," Piett ordered immediately. Folding his hands behind his back, Piett strode to the main viewport on the _Chimaera_ 's bridge, looking out at the molten surface of Revisse. Hearing approaching footsteps from behind, Piett glanced over his shoulder, giving Pellaeon a nod.

"Skywalker is still insisting on flying with Rogue Squadron?" Pellaeon asked.

Firmus smiled faintly. "Indeed. Flying appears to be hereditary in the Skywalker family. I would cast aside your disapproval on _this_ particular matter, Captain; it wasn't uncommon for Lord Vader to join Black Squadron in battle from time to time."

Frowning, the older man shrugged a shoulder. "There's a lot at stake, Admiral."

Grimacing, Piett turned to face Gilad but was interrupted by a loud exclamation.

"Admiral, Captain, receiving transmission from the _Admonitor!"_

Piett's head snapped up and he turned on his heel, setting a brisk pace as he walked toward the source of the shout in the crew-pit. Looking up at him was a young brown-haired man with an impressive mustache, standing from his seat with one hand pressed against his ear.

"Lieutenant?" he prompted.

"It's Captain Niriz, sir, he reports the system as being secure, however Imperial Center is currently under martial law," the man paused furrowing his brows. "Heavy fighting on the surface is largely contained but has yet to be quelled completely." There was another pause before the lieutenant glanced up to meet Admiral Piett's eyes. "Grand Admiral Thrawn extends his regards and looks forward to an introduction with you, and your guests, at your earliest convenience."

Piett leaned back and gave the captain a satisfied smile. "Well, I'd hate to disappoint. Captain?"

Pellaeon saluted, clicked his heels together and began issuing orders to the bridge crew. Revisse held no interest for them now, it was Imperial Center that was in their sights now.

* * *

 **Four hours later  
Imperial Center**  
 **Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

Luke deftly adjusted the flight stick of his X-Wing, maneuvering his fighter so that it rolled under the bulky _Sentinel_ landing craft Admiral Piett, Lando and their entourage were using to shuttle themselves to the surface.

"You know…it's just not the same without Xizor being on our tail," Janson remarked.

"I have to admit, watching the _Executor_ blast that skyhook to atoms _was_ a high-point in that particular field trip," Tycho Celchu remarked. "Never thought I'd say thanks to Vader, but he earned it then."

"We could've taken him!" Plourr sounded off, the pout clearly present even if she wasn't actually visible. "Little green bastard thought he'd take the Princess and kill our boss? Scum should know better than that."

Wedge snorted. "I'm pretty sure you just summed up the Empire's feelings regarding the Rebellion."

"Yeah, well, he was a green, creepy bastard and I'm glad he's space dust," Janson muttered.

Standro coughed, loudly. "I'm feeling uncomfortable at the hate being directed toward green sentient beings."

"You don't count," Janson assured him.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Well boys—"

"—and girls!" Kirst interrupted.

"—and girls," Luke added dutifully, "apparently the Imperial Palace got pounded pretty hard—"

"Just like Hobbie's mom!"

Luke, ignoring Janson's expected remark, pressed on. "—so we'll be landing in some modified prefabricated shelters on the lower levels. Sending coordinates and flight plan now."

"Copy, Lead," Wedge reported.

"So, Plourr, don't think it hasn't escaped my notice that you're extremely happy today. Giddy, almost. Did you have a good night or something?" Janson asked innocently.

A snarl that impressed even Riv filled the channel. "Shut it, Janson."

"How would it have been a good night?" Will asked. "They each beat the kriff out of each other."

"I'd say it's the other way around," Janson said smugly. "Some of the scratch marks on his back… Yikes!"

"Janson, you're a dead man."

Luke cleared his throat. "Children? Enough."

A silence interrupted only by some initial grumbling descended upon the comm channel.

From behind his canopy, Artoo whistled to inform him that the plans had been transmitted.

"Thanks, Artoo." Luke concentrated on the flight plan, deftly pulling into an escort position around Piett's shuttle. "You must've spent some time on Imperial Center with Leia or Bail Organa, right? Were you ever given information about the Jedi Temple? I'd like to see it if you do."

There was a moment of silence before Artoo gave him an affirmative, neutral whistle.

Luke frowned at the hesitation and was about to remark when a voice cut through the squadron frequency.

"Commander Skywalker, the Grand Admiral has requested your assistance in dealing with a rather irksome matter. During the recent battle with Admiral Zsinj, a company of enemy stormtroopers were able to establish a strongpoint within the remains of a Star Destroyer. Though they aren't large in number, they've been conducting missions of sabotage and disruption in the surrounding residential and commercial districts," Piett informed him. "The situation is made more complicated by the presence of a nearby, organized and well-armed group of dissidents who'll target any visible Imperial troops."

Luke mulled that over. "You think it's a rebel cell? He wants us to enlist their aid?"

"We have no way of knowing whether they are affiliated with your Alliance or not, however if they are, it would simplify the situation immensely if you were able to gain their cooperation, Commander," Piett replied. "Having them and any other remaining civilians in the area withdraw will free up options the Grand Admiral is hesitant to commit to."

There was a snort over the comm channel as Lando took Piett's place. "Hey Luke, it's like this. Nothing short of an orbital bombardment or torpedo strikes will destroy the remains of the destroyer they're using as an HQ. Grand Admiral Thrawn, a GA who might _not_ be entirely morally bankrupt, is hoping to avoid bombarding an area surrounded by a bunch of civilians. Sending in troops has turned the whole thing into a meat grinder, what with having to charge into a destroyer while getting shot in the back by rebels. Apparently, the Grand Admiral has the bizarre idea that rebels might listen to what you have to say, either as a Jedi or as the man who killed the first Death Star. "

Piett's voice resumed speaking. "The detachment of stormtroopers that were stranded by the battle were recently responsible for destroying an important power relay that affected the entire planetary power grid; they _must_ be removed, one way or another. The Grand Admiral thought it best that we attempt a more diplomatic solution given your imminent transfer of political affiliation."

"Thrawn thought it best to do so before you were witnessed landing at the Imperial Palace, after which issues regarding your loyalty might be raised against you if you tried to make contact," Lando explained. "You'll have reinforcements on standby, but I think the Grand Admiral is right about needing your involvement."

Artoo whistled behind him, asking if the flight plan needed adjusting.

Biting his lip, Luke tried to consider the ramifications of making one choice or another. But with lives on the line…

"Do you know where the rebel cell is currently located?"

"We've narrowed down the rebel cell's headquarters to this area. The nearest secure location for your fighters to land is only two klicks away…here," the admiral informed him.

Luke glanced at the screen, eyes narrowed as he considered the displayed area. "Alright, tell the Grand Admiral that Rogue Squadron is on it."

Switching the frequency back, Luke cleared his mind of all distractions, focus now limited to the upcoming battle. "Rogues, we got ourselves a mission; Artoo will send you the relevant data. Follow my lead and set your S-foils into attack position."

* * *

Mara Jade ducked down as a blaster bolt drilled into the plasticrete, a blackened crater appearing where her head had just been. _Fierfek! Why do the Rebels think Imperial stormtroopers can't shoot? Quite obviously, they can, and they're shooting at the wrong kriffing person._

She cautiously looked over the ruined wall she'd been using for cover and narrowly avoided being blasted yet again.

 _This is madness_ , she groused, _maybe I should've stayed on the Lusankya_.

There were stormtroopers in the husk of the crashed Star Destroyer who'd been making a general nuisance of themselves ever since they'd fortified themselves there. Jan and the others had been content to largely ignore then until they'd demonstrated their willingness to blow up civilian buildings and infrastructure for no other reason than to be irritating to whoever might be in charge of Imperial Center. Now, the Rebels had taken it upon themselves to blast away every stormtrooper in sight and for them, business was booming.

Huffing out an irritated sigh, Mara crawled the short distance to Jin-Rio, who was just as pinned down as she was. Jan had sent Rio out with a dozen other Rebels with the intention of capturing Imperial personnel to gain intel. Unfortunately, the understrength squad of troopers that a Rebel outpost had been tracking turned out to be the better part of a platoon.

Mara, who'd hoped to reconnect with Imperial forces arrayed against the blue-skinned Grand Admiral, and therefore Piett, was now in the position of killing stormtroopers in order to survive. It was far from the first time she'd been put into this position, but it was still irritating as hell.

Looking through a small opening in the crumbling wall, she saw several flashes of white armor but the stormtroopers had done an excellent job of maintaining their cover throughout the standoff. That was likely a result of being on the receiving end of several airstrikes launched by the Grand Admiral which had been extremely effective initially, but less so now that the damn stormies knew how to duck. And so, here she was with her tiny, merry band of Rebels fighting a hardened, better armed, better trained group of Imperial shock troops. To make things worse, the stormtroopers had trapped her group in an abandoned, dilapidated and roofless complex and were presumably preparing to mount an assault because they hadn't withdrawn when they had the chance.

This was _not_ her day.

Another flash of white caught her eye, a stormtrooper who stood out in the open long enough that she could see…

 _Kriff!_

She'd barely had a chance to analyze what she'd seen, but it was more than long enough to recognize an E-Web they'd managed to assemble without their knowledge. Then she saw the barrel of the heavy repeating blaster swing toward…

"Akabi!" Mara shouted. She ran in an awkward half-crouch to the other woman, fisted her hand in the woman's thick coat and pulled her forward onto her, sending them both crashing to the ground. Not even two seconds later and the wall the other woman had hidden behind exploded with blaster fire. Bolts of red, high-energy particle-beams poured into the building, splintering even the reinforced walls with frightening ease.

 _They're going to bring down the kriffing building if they keep this up_ , she thought, panic threatening to overwhelm her formidable self-discipline.

"Thanks, Mara," the other woman gasped, keeping her head down as the blaster bolts continued to penetrate nearby wall sections.

Mara nodded, giving the woman a weak smile. _I only saved her_ _because I need her help to fight off these stormtroopers and because she helped rescue me from the Lusyanka. That's it_ , she told herself, ignoring the twinge of guilt the thought induced.

"Akabi! They just put up a couple heavier infantry pieces; pretty sure they're about to advance under their cover," a male voice called out, barely audible over the continuing blaster fire.

Head still pressed to the ground, Jin-Rio slammed a fist against the ground. "Sithspit! Did Luyan ever make it back?"

"Negative, Geff's pretty sure he saw Luyan and the other two get hit about 100 meters out the way we came," the man replied.

"No more boom booms?" Akabi asked, the question more a statement.

"Fresh out of grenades and we left anything shoulder-mounted or crew-operated back at the base."

"That was a terrible decision!" Jin-Rio swore.

"That was _your_ decision," Mara retorted, raising an eyebrow.

The brown-haired woman gave her a sour look. "As commanding officer of this operation, it is my right to gripe about our problems and pin the blame on someone else. You're a former Imp, don't they _teach_ you guys that crap at Carida?"

Mara grimaced and didn't bother to reply. One of her more contentious opinions regarding the Imperial Military was just that, and that lack of accountability was what usually led her former master to send his Hand out to dispatch justice upon problematic officers in the first place.

Letting go of Akabi, she crawled back to her original position and slowly knelt looking through the small hole again. This time, there were a _lot_ more partially exposed stormtroopers in view, and the E-Web's constant fire was finally tapering off to give the barrel a chance to cooldown. The other Rebel had been right; they were about to assault the damn building. "I've got at least a squad on our side about to charge us," she called out.

"Another on our rear."

"I'm guessing they had at least three squads when we ran into each other. Pretty sure we've knocked one of those out," Jin-Rio said quietly.

 _So, call it almost 20 stormtroopers with an E-Web or two against our seven lightly-armed, armorless Rebel band. What a barrel of fun this is going to be._ She let a hand dip to her waist, fingering the hilt of the lightsaber that remained concealed. _Not yet_ , she thought, _and not unless I have to_.

Mara kept her eye fixed on the opposing position, watching them, listening for any audible clue as to when they'd be attacking. It was perhaps 20 seconds later that the forms of stormtroopers emerged from cover, running from one covered position to the next, covering the 40-meter distance that separated the two opposing forces with frightening speed.

"Here we go, fire and move, don't let that E-Web get a bead on you!" Akabi shouted.

As one, both woman stood up from their crouch, took aim at the telltale whiteness of exposed stormtrooper plasteel, fired and _moved_ to a new position. At least one of the stormtroopers she'd fired at had been knocked off his feet, the blaster bolt taking him high in the chest, but Mara didn't stay still long enough to see the results of her other shots. No, she was more worried about the E-Web that had already blasted her section of the wall. She found a thin piece of wall, blasted out a chunk, brought her rifle up and fired before starting the process over again. A flare in the Force caught her attention and she had just enough time to dash to the side, avoiding a chunk of duracrete that hurtled toward her. The flying debris would've caved in her chest if she hadn't felt the Force's warning and moved but the heavy chunk of rock still managed to clip her thigh, sending her spinning to the ground.

"Mara!" Akabi shouted, voice tight with the stress of combat.

Mara gave the other woman a weak smile. "I'm okay, just vape the little shits."

Akabi bared her teeth, took a step from cover and sent a bolt through the eyepiece of a stormtrooper from ten meters out before running to new cover.

Mara kept one hand on her blaster and glanced at her thigh to judge the extent of her injury. There was a lot of blood, but nothing that indicated a major vein or artery had been hit. She shifted on the ground, testing her body. No broken bones from what she could tell and inwardly shrugged. _Good enough, just a flesh wound_.

She braced herself against a wall and stood up, doing her best to avoid howling in pain as her muscles and movement stressed the injury. Flesh wound or not, it still hurt like kriff.

 _Use the pain, let it empower you_ , she thought, allowing her master's words to flow through her, pushing her physical weakness away. Taking careful steps to another position, she found a stormtrooper less than five meters away, dashing toward a newly blasted-out opening of the building. She snapped off a blaster bolt, already hobbling to a different position before her bolt pierced the trooper's chest.

A new sound suddenly entered her consciousness, stopping her from blasting another hole in the wall. It was an odd sound that was familiar but couldn't place. A flurry of filtered voices made her stagger to another opening, eyes widening when she saw the stormtroopers scrambling for cover. The sound got louder and though she still couldn't identify the model, she knew the sound of an incoming aerial attack.

"Airstrike, take cover!" she shouted.

Jin-Rio took her macrobinoculars out and began examining the horizon. She made an odd surprised sound, dropped them and picked them back up to look again. "Those are X-Wings!" she shouted, voice pitched high in disbelief, "and they have Alliance markings!"

* * *

"Lead, I've got eyes on the firefight approximately two klicks from the grounded Star Destroyer. I'm showing bucketheads attacking not-bucketheads inside a small apartment complex. Call it two or three squads of stormies in total. Can't see much of the not-bucketheads and I'm not seeing much return fire from them either. Looks like the stormies have a heavier infantry piece taking out their cover," Will Scotian announced.

"Copy, Two." Luke looked at the readings Will's astromech had transmitted. "Rogues Two, Four, Six and Eleven, you're with me on their south side. Wedge, you take the others on their north. Make two passes, land and let your astromech take the X-Wing to the designated landing point."

"Copy, Lead."

"You got it, Boss."

"It'll be just like Beggar's Canyon!" Janson pantomimed.

Luke cracked a smile. "I call dibs on the E-Web. Gonna show him a thing or two about 'heavy ordinance'."

"That doesn't sound much like the 'Jedi Way'," Tycho observed

"It's probably not," Luke admitted, "but it _is_ our way. Rogues, light 'em up!"

Dipping his X-Wing downwards so that it was coming in at a steep angle, he led his flight into a sharp descent angled toward the enemy position. Seeing crimson laser blasts begin to flash past his fighter toward the scrambling stormtroopers, Luke found his own target and pressed the trigger.

* * *

Just as the blaster bolts from the E-Web had eclipsed those of the blaster rifle she used, so too did the X-Wing's laser cannon blasts eclipse those of the E-Web. Every crimson bolt that splashed against the ground resulted in an eruption of dirt, rock and flesh. Duracrete close to the center of each impact zone was reduced to molten slag if it wasn't shattered outright, turning the charred, rubble landscape into a more hellish one.

Even as Mara watched, the first volley of laser cannon blasts vaporized five or six stormtroopers that were less than ten meters from her position, and the next volley took out several more. Hearing similar explosions from behind, Mara glanced over her shoulder just as a flight of X-Wings sped past overhead, angling upwards to prepare for another pass. Several more laser blasts shook the ground close by, and she turned back to observe the scene in front of her.

The troopers operating the E-Web had long since begun ignoring the grounded Rebels and was now angled upward, firing ineffectively at another flight of approaching X-Wings. There was a brief flash of light from the lead X-Wing and she watched as a purplish projectile raced downwards accompanied by a loud, warbling sound.

"Oh, Sithspit! Get down!" she screamed. Ignoring the pain in her thigh, Mara flung herself to the ground, covering her head with both arms as the world outside _exploded_.

* * *

Luke leveled his X-Wing off, slicing through the plume of black smoke that billowed upwards after the torpedo's detonation. He began a tight turn, gaining altitude as he prepared for his second strafing run.

"I think you got him, Boss," Kirst observed blandly. "Along with the rest of the block."

"Cut the chatter, Three, we still have a mess to clean up," Luke ordered curtly.

"Why would you even waste a proton torpedo on an _E-Web?_ " Kirst continued, ignoring him.

Rolling his eyes, Luke let out an exasperated sigh, "We're fighting _with_ the Empire. We don't _need_ to steal more torpedoes to rearm our ships because I'll be footing the bill."

"That's…a solid point," Tycho observed over the squadron frequency. "Making my second run now."

" _And_ it makes a big boom," another voice called out.

"Yes, Wes, it makes a big boom." Luke shook his head in amusement and began sharp descent in his X-Wing. Sending out a serious of crimson bolts from the X-Wing's laser cannons, he didn't bother to watch their impact as he located a charred piece of earth that he could dismount the X-Wing from. "Bringing my fighter down now; I'll have my feet on the ground in about 20 seconds, approximately 200 meters due east from the Rebels' position."

After hearing his squadmates' verbal acknowledgements, Luke brought his X-Wing to a hover over the spot he'd found, quickly taking off his harness and opening the pilot canopy.

"Artoo, take the ship to the coordinates of the secure landing site with the others."

A warbling set of beeps from the astromech made Luke smirk. "Don't worry, Artoo. Believe it or not, I _can_ take care of myself."

A disbelieving raspberry from the droid transformed Luke's smirk turn into a full-blown grin. Standing on the pilot seat, he leaped from the hovering X-Wing onto the ground, immediately dashing for the nearest source of cover. Crouching behind a small duracrete pillar perhaps 20 meters from his X-Wing, he waited for Artoo to take the fighter before he advanced any further. When he did advance, he did so with his lightsaber in one hand and his blaster pistol in the other. He jogged another 20 meters, zigging and zagging from one shelter to another until the report of nearby blasters registered in his hearing.

Taking a knee in the rubble that was once a small house, he closed his eyes and extended his senses.

The squad frequency briefly lit up with a chorus of "Yub yub!" as the Rogues began their ground attack against the stormtroopers.

Luke smirked; Wedge was _never_ going to live that picture down, especially not when Rogue Squadron had taken the battle cry to heart so eagerly.

Despite the distraction of one Lieutenant Kettch, he found what he was looking for and opened his eyes, cautiously emerging from his cover. He quickly covered another 10 meters, passing an intact hedge and snapping his blaster to the right and sending a crimson bolt into the lurking stormtrooper whose presence he'd felt. In his peripheral vision, Luke saw another stormtrooper get blasted by either Hobbie or Plourr as he continued onward. The destruction wrought by the torpedo appeared to have killed most of the stormtroopers and had stunned the platoon's remnants and the Rebels both.

As he moved forward, a flash of white caught his eye and spied a stormtrooper struggling to get to his feet and bring his blaster rifle to bear.

Luke discharged his blaster three times, the first crimson bolt missing the stormtrooper entirely and the next two catching him in the chest. Hearing a sharp whistle from behind, he took a knee and glanced over his shoulder.

"On your six, Lead," Will called out quietly. "Riv said he can hear what sounds like a full fireteam up ahead. Do your green glowstick thing, we got your back."

Luke flashed him a thumbs up before he tapped his comlink. "Wedge, do what you can to either force the Imps to retreat or put them into a killzone between you and the Rebel cell. When they're no longer a threat, loop around to meet us on the south end."

"Copy, Lead."

Taking a moment to verify the cluster of presences he'd felt earlier, he holstered his pistol and began running toward the trio of entrenched stormtroopers who were laying down a withering hail of fire against the Rebel position. Gesturing toward a nearby chunk of duracrete, he used the Force to take hold of it and fling it toward the troopers. Though the rock slammed into the makeshift rampart of the small ditch they were using as cover, none of them received so much as a scratch, but it _did_ catch their attention. Indeed, not even a heartbeat passed before blaster bolts began to flash toward him in a flurry of crimson. Luckily, he had a green glowstick thing to help out with that.

Thumbing on the lightsaber with its distinctive _snap-hiss,_ Luke batted the first bolt away harmlessly into the air and twisted to avoid the second and third bolts. A twirl of the saber sent a bolt back toward its owner, send the man crashing to the dirt with a blackened hole in his chest. Still running as fast as he could toward the troopers, he deflected another two bolts, avoided three more and leaped into the small trench. And then he was upon them.

A quick thrust into the chest killed the first stormtrooper and a rapid twirl of his hand disarmed the second. The stormtrooper, sans blaster and right arm, howled in pain but dove for his blaster in sheer stubbornness. Pushing out with a hand, Luke batted the man's arm and blaster through the air with a pulse of the Force.

"Go, boss, I got this," Will panted, taking out a pair of stuncuffs before looking awkwardly at the one-armed trooper. "Luke…what's with you Jedi and amputation? I swear it's a fetish."

Luke, giving his gloved hand a brief once-over, didn't answer. Instead, he jumped out of the trench and darted toward another stormtrooper who immediately turned toward the threat offered by the humming lightsaber. The trooper squeezed off a flurry of shots before attempting to escape underneath a buckling passageway. Luke caught the first of the bolts with his lightsaber and sent it back to its source. Evading two bolts and deflecting the other one into a nearby boulder, he observed the first blaster bolt he'd deflected zip through the air a half-second too late behind the man.

Refusing to allow any sense of aggravation hamper his connection to the Force, he extended his hand, found the bridge and _pulled._ The man might've escaped his own blaster bolt, but a dozen tons of ferrocrete augmented by the law of gravity was an entirely different matter. Luke felt the trooper's presence disappear and took a moment to crouch behind a small pile of rubble to take stock of the situation.

Not far from him, Hobbie had straddled a helmetless, struggling stormtrooper and was slamming his fist repeatedly into the trooper's face. He kept this up until the stormtrooper went limp long enough for Hobbie to put stuncuffs around the trooper's arms. Then Hobbie punched him again, just for good measure.

Wincing, Luke looked for the rest of his group.

A few meters to his left, both Riv and Plourr were crouching together, waiting for orders. Will had stunned the one-armed stormtrooper and had dragged him over and was now scanning the area for movement. Good, all members on his flight accounted for.

"Any movement on our end?" he asked quietly.

"Negative, boss," Will reported.

Riv gave a small growl and shook his head roughly.

Extinguishing the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt, he brought the comlink to his mouth. "One, this is Lead. All clear on the south."

"Copy, Lead, looping around as ordered. Be at your position in two minutes."

Plourr sighed. "You know…that torpedo really took the fun out of this. I've been surrounded by Imps for a week and I haven't been able to kill _any_ of them."

"What was that Janson was saying about a good night?" Will asked innocently.

Plourr's blaster visibly twitched in the Brentaalan's direction.

Shaking his head, Luke waited half a beat before cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hello in there! If you have any injured in there, we'd be happy to provide what help we can."

Luke was waiting for a response when Wedge jogged up to him. "Hey, Luke, what's our status?"

Before Luke had a chance to respond, a feminine voice shouted a loud, "Who are you?"

"We're from the Alliance!" Luke replied with a shout then paused, giving Wedge a questioning look. Seeing the other man's shrug, Luke yelled out, "I'm Commander Skywalker with Rogue Squadron."

There was another lingering silence before a woman with cropped, brown hair emerged from the wreckage of the complex. Luke likewise made himself visible, slowly approaching the woman.

"Commander Skywalker, huh? I got somebody who'd like to see you again," the woman said. "My name is Jin-Rio. Call me Akabi, if you want."

Luke held out his hand. "Luke Skywalker. But, you can call me Luke, if you want."

The woman gave him a bemused look, a smile playing across your lips. "Come on, _Luke_ , the general will be thrilled to see you again." Jin-Rio put two fingers to her mouth and whistled a note so shrill it made Luke wince. "Alright you degenerates," the woman shouted, "time to go home. We have important guests here so at least _pretend_ to be competent and respectful."

"No need," Wedge replied tiredly. "Janson will offend everyone before your people even have a chance."

"I resemble that remark," Wes sniffed. "Yub yub."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Big block of Author's Notes coming, have fun if you want to read the inner monologue that governs my writing. So, I know I promised that story would be focusing more on Luke, but I couldn't help adding the Plourr and Janson bit because…well, it's Rogue Squadron!

I'm not 100% certain of the fate of Luke's X-Wing and was unable to find any references to it. One Wookieepedia article stated that he'd used the same X-Wing from Yavin all the way past Thrawn, but seeing as it didn't even mention it being left on Bespin… *shrug*. In my mind, because he left it behind when he escaped Cloud City, I can only presume that it was taken into Imperial custody, seeing as the Empire _did_ place a garrison there. I could easily imagine Vader being interested in keeping it and thought the reference in the first half of the chapter gave that a nice little "mystery solved!" moment. For those curious about what Rogue Squadron was doing on the ground, they actually did that a lot. Rogue Squadron, in those earlier years of the Alliance, was almost as much of a ground strike team as it was a fighter squadron.

Luke's training sequence: And why yes, that was the shatterpoint ability Luke just (re)discovered with the stormtrooper helmet. I know it was really long but I really wanted to demonstrate that even though Luke's destiny has fundamentally changed, his study and growing mastery of the Force hasn't. While he managed to use the ability in this chapter, it was performed at the expense of a great deal of time and effort. Basically, his grasp of the shatterpoint skill is barely even theoretical and nowhere near Mace Windu's level (his mastery of the skill was powerful enough that he could apply the ability to people/situations rather than purely physical applications). Basically: character development.

One of the reasons I included this scene is because even though this story is about him becoming the Emperor, but I _really_ don't want it to be at the expense of his growing understanding of the Force. Yoda's teaching will be infrequent but definitely there, to teach certain concepts and ideas which Luke can then explore on his own. The Art of the Small, the knowledge Vergere imparted to Jacen, had so many applications: healing, hiding one's presence, transmutation. I thought exploring that ability and stumbling across the _idea_ of a shatterpoint was nifty.

No, there will be no Plourr Ilo/Turr Phennir ship. Just…no.

Coruscant/Mara/Luke sequence might be a bit of a departure from the main plot, but even if its not entirely apparent _now_ , the consequences of their encounter are going to help shape later portions, _key_ portions of the plot.

Things that annoy me in Star Wars Fanfics: I cannot stand when authors throw in OCs with names like Elizabeth, Samantha, Allison, Alex, or god help me, Ghost or Nova. If I see a Star Wars story, even one with a great premise, with a character named Alexander, I just immediately stop reading. Honestly, how many human names are even remotely like ours? Luke, obviously, Owen, Ben, and… If you throw in OCs you should at least _try_ to fit their names into the universe. And if I see a character named "Skye" again, I might throw up.

Started reading a fic the other day where an A-Wing was described as having good shields but was slower than an X-Wing. I wouldn't have been so bothered had the TIE-Bomber not also been described as "fast." Felt like the author was just name-dropping at that point and stopped reading. /rant


	11. Chapter Ten

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** As always, thank you everyone for your ongoing support of my story! I believe you'll have some fun with this chapter and the (hopefully) highly anticipated meeting between the last Jedi and the Emperor's Hand. I'm still dedicating my writing toward WotE and will probably publish another two chapters before moving back to Thor's Slayers.

Just a heads up, in the bottom Author's Notes, I pose a series of questions that I'd love to see you answer in your feedback!

* * *

 **###**

 _"Overwhelming odds, tough target, scant chance of survival—business as usual for Rogue Squadron."_  
 _— Corran Horn_

 **#**

 **Thirty-six days after BoE  
Imperial City, Imperial Center**

She'd felt his presence a split-second after the proton torpedo streaked from his X-Wing. The destruction wrought by the explosive projectile created a blinding inferno where the stormtroopers' position had once been. Yet that inferno of destruction and fire was eclipsed by what Mara sensed in _him_.

Like a sunburst or a nova, the presence radiated a light that illuminated a world she hadn't realized had been so dark. As she lay prone across the dirt-strewn floor, taking cover from the destruction rained down by the X-Wings overhead, she focused on hiding from that brilliant presence the way her master had taught her, camouflaging herself to appear harmless at a casual scan. She didn't _know_ exactly who it was that flew above, but she did know that the number of identified Force-sensitive Alliance pilots were vanishingly few. She had received dossiers of only two such individuals from her past dealings with Imperial Intelligence and though both were reported to be strong, there was only _one_ person whose presence in the Force could be so overwhelming. Only one person that her master had ever perceived to be a threat.

 _Luke Skywalker._

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

She'd already braced herself for the enraged scream that echoed within her mind but the power of it still made her cringe. The darkness of her master's presence, flooding her mind with his last command served as a stark contrast to the searing light of the Jedi flying overhead. She shuddered, drawing her presence in even tighter.

Sith, he was so _bright!_

Half-trained Jedi or not, it was no wonder her master had been wary. Mara had seen him once before at Jabba's Palace, but in her determination to stay hidden, she hadn't been willing to risk truly opening herself to the Force to truly 'taste' his presence. But even there, the power lurking in that unremarkable appearance was undeniable. It'd barely been a month since that day yet his presence seemed even stronger than it had before. His presence, its overwhelming strength, it could only be Skywalker.

 _What in all the seven hells is Luke_ kriffing _Skywalker doing on Imperial Center?_

The sound of starfighters racing past the Rebel position overhead or the thunderous explosions that followed in the wake of another X-Wing's strafing run came to a gradual halt. Silence, broken only by the intermittent groaning and screaming of the injured and dying, filled the air. For a moment, Mara thought it was over, that the Rebels had managed to kill all of the Empire's troops on the ground and were either running away from pursuing Imperial forces or had moved on to more valuable targets. The thought had evidently occurred to Akabi as well because both girls slowly moved to peek over the wall of their pitiful makeshift fortress.

A blaster bolt zipped past Mara's fast, so close that she was fairly sure some of her hair had been signed.

 _Fierfek!_

And with that, the battle renewed. It might have been less frantic for the Rebels with so many of the stormtroopers dead, but it was nevertheless a firefight against increasingly desperate stormtroopers. Mara caught sight of the female Barabel member of their group getting hit by a trio of blaster bolts, the force of which pushed her into the wall at her back, where she slowly slumped to the floor. The stormtroopers might be down, but they weren't out.

Luckily, along with devastating the stormtroopers' numbers, the X-Wings' attack had also managed to force the troopers into a more open position. The destruction of the E-Web was also made it possible for Akabi and the others to remain in an entrenched position. It was almost a shame, Mara thought, snapping a shot off that clipped a stormtrooper's leg, knocking him off his feed. He'd just managed to climb to his hands and knees when her second bolt went through the top of the trooper's helmet.

A twitch in the Force, made her dart to a new position, looking back just in time to see a staccato of blaster bolts slam into the top of the pitted surface of the wall until they'd blown completely through it.

Grunting in annoying, estimating the trajectory of the shots, she twisted around, raised her blaster and firing another crimson bolt that hit the trooper in the chest. Mara's huffed scornfully, feeling her lip curl. _Fools, the fighting would've undoubtedly been costly if they'd continued trying to force their way into our position, but at least they'd be safe from the X-Wings. Then they might have at least had a chance._

Several minutes of exchanging blaster rounds passed, the Rebels' advantage growing but still unable to retreat due to the greater, even if heavily reduced, numbers of the Imperial shock troopers. But the stalemate was soon broken by the sudden appearance of a small group of people wearing orange flightsuits. The loud, surprised exclamation from the other side of the building told Mara that one group was actually two, one on each side of the beleaguered Rebel position. The Rebel pilots, for some reason, had thought landing their snubfighters to personally intervene in a small firefight was worth it.

Racing around in those flightsuits that were even more distinctive than the white-armored stormtroopers, their appearance was grotesque when contrasted to the blasted land and their surrounds filled with scattered debris and corpses. However, their appearance might disgust her, it was inarguable that their performance in the field was nothing if not impressive. Even as Mara watched, one—two stormtroopers were brought down by well-placed blaster bolts that left smoking, charred holes in their white armor.

Still watching, Mara noticed one of the pilots put away his blaster in favor of a small metallic item he plucked from his belt. She'd thought that the pilot, an oddly familiar-looking blond man, might lob some sort of grenade at a nearby cluster of stormtroopers. Instead, the _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber igniting caused her whole body to flinch and the sight of the green beam of light erupting from the pilot's hand stirred the dark voice lurking in the back of her mind.

 ** _["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]_**

Mara cringed and took a sharp breath at the stabbing pain in her skull. Closing her eyes, she calmed and drew her presence in even tighter than before. The sound of the firefight continued, as did the hum of the lightsaber and finally, she opened her eyes. Those eyes widened immediately, and she clambered toward a better position to watch while occasionally taking potshots at exposed, moving white armor. Less than five meters away from her, Akabi and the others had taken up the fight with renewed gusto, capitalizing on the strangers' attack on the stormtrooper position.

In truth, the fight had ended the moment the torpedo vaporized the stormtrooper's heavy weaponry and defensive position. The mop-up was all that remained and that task could be handled by the others. There was only one thing Mara focused on, only one person whose presence drew her attention. Climbing an unsteady, half-destroyed set of stairs, she ignored the ongoing fight in an effort to study _him_.

It was him, no doubt about it. If it wasn't the overpowering strength of his presence that made his identity clear, then it was the mop of sandy-blonde hair she'd seen once before in Jabba's palace. There she'd failed in her mission to kill him, but she'd been close enough to see his features. Though a part of her subconscious mind maintained her mental shields tightly bound to avoid detection, most of her attention was fixed upon Luke Skywalker's movements. She watched as he leaped and ran, meting out swift deaths to the stormtroopers that opposed him and his allies.

Several things were immediately apparent. One, his footwork was unpolished. Not _sloppy_ exactly, just rough in a way that implied a lack of familiarity rather than lack of knowledge. Two, his swordsmanship lacked finesse. He possessed impressive skills with a lightsaber and had obviously been trained, but his bladework held little of the fluidity with which she carried her own blade. Three, his strength in the Force and his ability to immerse himself made her first two points null and void. If she had to kill him, it wouldn't be by a well-placed blaster bolt. This kill would have to be up close and she'd have to keep her emotions tightly contained just to reach striking distance.

A dagger in the heart? _No. Make it personal and you make it sloppy._

Poison? _It would have to be fast-acting and couldn't be reliably delivered in a long-range dart._

Maybe a needle of some sort? _Varied chance of success is a serious drawback._

Sever his brainstem with a vibroblade in the base of his neck? _If I can get behind him, it's a pretty sure way of making anything vaguely humanoid dead pretty quick, but still carries too much risk of being discovered._

Mara gritted her teeth. _Control, Jade, control_. She could not attack him immediately, not if she had any hope of surviving his Rebel friends' retribution. Bide her time, kill him, and find the new Emperor to offer her services to. _That_ had to be her plan. Letting out a breath, she realized that at some point during her ruminations, her hand had slipped under her shirt, grasping the hilt of her lightsaber she kept near her waist. Her hand ached from how tightly her hand had clamped onto the weapon's hilt and it took a surprising amount of effort to withdraw her hand sans lightsaber.

A piercing whistle broke her attention and she realized that Jan's rebels were preparing to head back to their homespun base. Several of their number had makeshift stretchers while others were receiving first aid from Luke Skywalker's accompanying band of Rebels. She recognized several of them instantly. Tycho Celchu, a traitor, and Wedge Antilles, one of Skywalker's closest allies. _With those two at his side, it has to be!_ So why would they be all the way in the core, in Imperial Center? Surely the Rebels weren't planning to take a move on Imperial Center this soon; even if they did capture it, they'd never be able to hold it. She let out a breath and cleared her mind, meeting the smile of an orange-clad pilot with a bland smile of her own.

When they did move out, Mara poured all her will into making her presence hidden within the Force, to keep her anger from rising to the surface. She walked four meters ahead of him, unwilling to so much as glance over her shoulder lest she somehow give away her own sensitivity to the Force. _At least, I'll be able to find out what the kriff is happening in this galaxy_ , she thought hopefully.

* * *

 _"Discovered our missing Hand, young Skywalker has," Yoda harrumphed, "of their meeting, little good can come."_

 _Veiled within the currents of the Force, the diminutive figure studied the flame-haired girl, who was looking in every direction but Luke's to avoid detection. But though her gaze fell elsewhere, it was Luke who was the focus of her thoughts. With more time, she might've been able to differentiate the hateful feelings imposed by her master with her own, but as it stood, there was no doubt in the Jedi Master's mind that the Emperor's Hand would be driven to strike._

 _Luke's arrival had caused an emotional upheaval in this Mara Jade that should've alerted Luke to her presence, but the boy had given no indication that he'd done so. His involvement in the battle made the failure understandable, if not excusable. A Jedi's senses should always be extended, always listening for the whispers in the Force._

 _Yoda frowned, this would be a lesson they'd have to revisit._

 _To the Hand's credit, despite the initial spike of anger within the Force, she'd been able to conceal the anger, hatred, guilt and pain that was lurking beneath the surface of her self-control. Having had the better part of a millennia to study the ways of the Force, he_ could _feel the torrent of emotions and if Luke was truly ignorant of her presence, he would be in grave danger. He tilted his head, still watching Luke's would-be assassin as he considered the situation._

 _Hiding oneself within the Force was a complex procedure, one that could be achieved through a myriad of methods which would result in a similar effect. Similar, but not identical._

 _This Hand of the Emperor was strong in the Force, disciplined and skilled in both body and mind that would make her a dire threat to Luke even without the element of surprise. Unfortunately, the method she used was not one that Yoda had described to Luke and though he hoped their recent training would give young Skywalker the insight needed to sense the danger, more direct action may be needed._

 _Yoda sighed before musing to himself aloud, "A propensity for recklessness and finding trouble, Luke possesses. Like his father, he is so intervene, the father will."_

 _Casting another frown toward both Mara Jade and Luke, he let out an annoyed grunt and vanished._

* * *

"Please stay here, Commander Skywalker, I'll be back with the general in a moment."

Luke gave a grateful bow of his head to the slender, young woman. "Thank you, Miss Akabi, we appreciate your hospitality."

Standing in the gated entranceway, the pale-skinned woman flashed him a distinctly impish smile. "Just hope those X-Wings of yours are as safe as you claim, or you'll be enjoying a whole lot more of our hospitality than you'd probably like."

When the small iron gate slid shut behind her departing figure, Janson stepped closer and leaned forward, eyes alight with satisfaction. "You know who that was, right?"

Luke raised an eyebrow at Wedge who frowned and shook his head slowly.

"Jin-Rio Akabi was Alliance SpecOps; she was part of the crew that helped capture Whisper Base on Onderon. She was listed as MIA after Moff Dardano's attempt to retake the base right after the Battle of Yavin," Janson grinned. "I met her once and I'm pretty sure I made a good impression then."

"It's a shame that the moment you open your mouth again, you're likely to ruin that impression forever," Hobbie observed dryly.

Janson flashed him a rude gesture and crossed his arms over his chest, looking decidedly sulky.

"So, who do you think "The General" is?" Tycho asked the assembled Rogues.

"Drawing a blank," Wedge admitted. "It _could_ just be an alias, you know, not necessarily an Alliance general."

Kirst hummed in thought. "Jin-Rio seemed pretty devoted to him and I can tell you from personal experience that SpecOps don't have that sort of loyalty for any old moof milker."

Riv growled and let out a series of barks and higher pitched yips. A metallic voice translated, "This general leads his people well. There are many pups to feed, many injured to care for, but spirits are high and their willingness to hunt Imperials remain."

As usual, a series of furrowed eyebrows followed on the heels of the wolfman's statement as they mentally translated the more confusing parts of Riv's message into context before they nodded their agreement.

"You sure we can trust them, boss?" Will asked quietly.

"Well, given that they were shooting at stormtroopers and didn't take the time to shoot at us, I have to think that's a positive sign." Pausing, Luke gave the question the serious consideration it was due. Finally, he shrugged, "I've sensed no deception from them."

"Not the same thing," Tycho pointed out.

"No," Luke conceded, "but like I said before, it's a start. Let's just try to make a good impression, okay?"

Every head swung toward Wes Janson. Wes Janson stared back defiantly until the color abruptly drained from his face. Wes coughed, opened his mouth as if he were about to speak but nothing escaped the gaping maw of a mouth that typically leaked words like a Wookiee shed fur.

Luke, confused by rare event that Janson was left speechless, followed the direction of the man's wide eyes over his shoulder and froze as he saw the face of the man standing in the doorway.

"I assure you, Commander Skywalker, my impression of you couldn't be any better."

Standing there with both arms folded across his chest and a broad smile only partially concealed by a white beard, was General Jan Dodonna. The Supreme Commander of Alliance Starfighter Command, Dodonna's reported death during the evacuation of Yavin had been considered an immense blow to the Alliance. One of the most important military leaders of the Alliance, a member of High Command, his being there was…

Luke shook his head roughly, staring at the man in disbelief.

With a twinkle in his eye, General Dodonna waved them to follow him into the large residential building, taking them to a small sitting room adjacent to the compound's entrance. After Luke's squadmates had taken a seat around the table, Dodonna gingerly took his own seat next to Luke. Leaning back, the Commenorian let one arm rest upon the tabletop while he idly stroked his long beard.

"It's good to see you again, Commander Skywalker, it's been a long time since we last saw each other and I'm happy to see that the promotion I recommended was accepted. Klivian, Janson, a pleasure to see the both of you as well," Jan Dodonna nodded to each named individual before he settled back in his chair and gave Rogue Squadron a measuring look. "While I am _thrilled_ to see fellow Alliance members after so long, I admit your presence is something of a surprise. Tell me, what brings you all the way to the core?"

Luke, still partially frozen at the sight of the long-lost Alliance general, blinked uncomprehendingly until Wedge kicked his chair. Letting out a breathy laugh, Luke shook his head. "General, that's—that's a very complicated story."

Jan raised a bushy, grey eyebrow and leaned back, waving a hand for Luke to explain.

* * *

 **Three hours later**

"That's…quite a story, Commander Skywalker, and unimaginably fortuitous for the Alliance. If you don't mind my asking, who are these high-ranking Imperials responsible for brokering this deal?" General Dodonna asked lightly, stroking his beard.

"We can't say exactly who," Luke replied, wincing as he did so, "security...you know?"

Thankfully, the elderly Commenori merely smiled, waving Luke's apologetic glance away. "I've spent the better part of four years here, Commander, I am well versed to Isard's deplorable methods in prisoner experimentation. It's obvious that this Grand Admiral 'Thrawn' is part of it, but Firmus never struck me as the kind of man who would pursue such a radical strategy. He is not without imagination or cleverness, but this gambit is...quite out of character for him."

Jan frowned, staring at the grain of the table until he abruptly looked up. "I don't believe he's the kind of man to spearhead such an endeavor and the way Thrawn has stayed in the shadows would make seeking the throne extraordinarily difficult without using brute Force."

The older man stroked his beard for a long moment before cocking his head and giving Luke a quizzical look. "Commander, how did an Alliance fighter squadron come to be stationed on an Imperial star cruiser with the authority to attack Imperial troops on the Imperial capital? There's a difference between a tentative diplomatic agreement and outright collaboration. There must be a great deal you've left unsaid."

Meeting the man's eyes, Luke offered him an apologetic look and a shrug. "You're aware of the constraints I'm under, General Dodonna, perhaps we might discuss something else?"

Dodonna kept his eyes on him, stroking his beard contemplatively until he let out a sigh. "Very well, Commander, keep your secrets. I eagerly await Airen's undoubtedly thorough examination he's sure to conduct upon our next meeting."

"Sir, Isard's sleeper agents are—" Wedge began hesitantly.

"Believe me, Commander Antilles, I know all about those poor souls; I don't begrudge you your security methods," Dodonna interrupted, "I'm merely irritated that I'm on the receiving end."

Not knowing what to say, Luke cleared his throat, hoping for a change of subject.

Dodonna flashed him a smile before nodding his understanding. "Moving on then. Now, you've obviously obtained a significant degree of latitude from the Empire given your defense of my people, which I'm extremely grateful for, I might add. However, if there's any trait the upper echelon of the Empire lack universally, it's idealism; I imagine they're hoping your presence will dissuade a resumption of attacks against the Imperial establishment?"

"That would be a safe bet," Luke agreed.

Jan nodded. "High Command supported this plan?"

"Not without reservations," Luke admitted, "but our presence here has nothing to do with you. We hadn't anticipated an active Rebel presence."

"Ah," Jan murmured, a slight smile reshaped the contours of his beard. "Whatever the true reason for your being here, it must be _fascinating_. Do you intend to stay here for long?"

Luke frowned and pointed at the floor. " _Here_ or on Coruscant?"

Jan smiled. "Yes."

"For however long we're needed," Luke replied matter-of-factly.

#

It was interesting how a planet teeming with over a trillion sentients could feel so quiet, and he found himself wondering if it was the sort of quiet that preceded a storm or came at the heels of one. His gloomy outlook slowly improved as he let himself _feel_ the Force and release his harshest emotions, but a prickling on the back of his neck made it impossible to totally let it go. He was being watched, watched by something or someone that held such _anger_ for him that it nearly took his breath away. It was close, too, but keeping its presence largely hidden and impossible to pinpoint with any degree of accuracy. Its ability to hide itself in such a way proved that it was Force-sensitive, likely one who'd been trained at that.

He let out a long breath. He was _tired_ of Sith Lords, tired of battling creatures whose souls had been corrupted by the dark side of the Force. They were a reminder of what his father had become, of what _he_ could become, and why the Jedi were necessary. In the absence of the light of the Jedi Order, the darkness had festered. This new presence was only a reminder that, despite the death of the Emperor and many of his agents, the dark side would always have a place in this galaxy and there would always be those willing to embrace it.

Little more than a month ago, he'd believed it to be his responsibility to reignite the Jedi's flame that might drive the darkness back. It had been a weight that'd often felt too heavy for him to bear, but nevertheless, he'd made peace with it and even looked forward to the challenge. Now, his role in that struggle was unclear and instead it was his untrained, temperamental sister who was to take his place. And of course, that didn't seem like a worrisome idea _at all_.

He sighed, feeling irritated with the universe, the Force and especially Anakin Skywalker.

Well, whoever or whatever this new threat might be, he hoped they would get the unnecessarily dramatic build-up, ambush and monologue part over and done with so they could get on with it.

It was on the heels of that thought that he'd felt Dodonna's presence, a calm, quiet one filled with both weariness and hope. Neither of the two men said anything, so Luke resumed his quiet meditation while Jan gathered his thoughts.

Luke could feel the other presences in the house, many of whom, like the Rogues, having quickly fallen asleep on makeshift pallets while Jan's people were either patrolling the area or searching for survivors and supplies. He could have slept, he certainly felt tired enough to do so, but Luke had felt restless, and after sending Lando a short message describing their progress, sought solitude. The veranda wasn't exactly isolated from the group, but it'd been vacant at the time and his meditation had been aided by the greenery he found so soothing.

Amongst the potted plants, ferns and fountains, the two stared out into a cityscape that faced away from the crashed Star Destroyer. The prolific soaring skyscrapers of the central district could just _barely_ be seen but their silhouettes still gave quite the impression for a farm boy hailing from Tatooine.

"So, Commander, it would seem that you've managed to achieve your dream, haven't you? In the face of prejudice, ignorance, tyranny and the might of the Empire itself, you've become a Jedi just like your father."

Only by dint of will was Luke able to keep himself from wincing at Dodonna's reference to Anakin Skywalker and masked the effort by straightening his shoulders and clasping his hands around his back. Glancing aside at the older man, he asked curiously, "What makes you say that?"

Beside him, Jan crossed his arms and gave him a warm smile, though his eyes remained somewhat distant. "Oh yes, you certainly have become a Jedi."

Luke raised both eyebrows, giving the man his full attention.

"A four-year span can change anyone, Commander, four years of war even more so. But you? You haven't just changed, you've _transformed_ or perhaps, _evolved,_ eclipsing that which you were to become that which you've become."

"That's very poetic, General," Luke murmured, "but why are you so sure that becoming a Jedi is responsible for this change?"

"Commander...Luke, few beings can maintain the sort of discipline required to meditate for prolonged periods of time or maintain the sort of calm that you seem to project. And you also forget that I'm old enough to remember the Jedi of the Republic. You've developed their ability to speak less while saying more and have acquired one of their more annoying habits of answering questions with questions. You're also wearing your lightsaber; that's also generally considered a clue," Dodonna observed wryly.

Wincing, Luke withdrew the hilt. "It's not the same one that I—"

"I didn't say _a_ lightsaber, Skywalker, I said _your_ lightsaber. You wear it with confidence and familiarity and if Jin-Rio is correct, wield it with impressive skill and grace. You never wore your father's lightsaber like that; you wore it as something precious, not as something that was yours. If you built that lightsaber, then you have indeed passed your trials. In days long past, this would have earned you the right to be called a Jedi Knight, is that not the case?"

Luke said nothing for a moment, studying Dodonna for a long moment before he offered a wry smile. "You're a very observant man."

Dodonna glowered at him. "If there were skills to pick up from the Jedi, I'd have hoped it wouldn't be the ability to avoid answering questions or to supply nonanswers."

"I have been named a Jedi Knight, yes," Luke conceded, but admitted with a self-deprecating smile, "I've learned many things, General, but every time I learn something new, I discover a hundred more things I have yet to understand."

Nodding slowly, the general asked quietly, "You were able to find another teacher, then?"

"Master Yoda."

"Master Yoda?! Sithspit! Keep your new annoying habits, at least you're speaking proper basic!" the Commenorian exclaimed, his sudden exuberance at odds with his typically somber demeanor.

"Found it aggravating, did you?" Luke croaked, mimicking Yoda's voice as best he could. _Please don't be watching, Master._

General Dodonna burst out laughing, a loud, deep, belly laugh that took years off the older man's face and coaxed a smile from his own.

* * *

 **Five weeks after the BoE  
Aboard _Home One  
_ Endor planetary orbit, Endor system**

" _Princess, a Noghri official of some sort just arrived in-system; they've requested an audience with you."_

Leia frowned at her comlink, wondering at the overly formal words. _A diplomat or low-ranking ambassador of some kind, most likely_ , she mused. "Who is it?"

" _He informed us that he's a representative of Clan Khim'bar of Honoghr, Your Highness. He's being restricted to his ship for the time being_ ," the tinny voice from the comlink replied.

"Very well, you may allow him to disembark. Please find an available room we can use for a _private_ meeting. Send me the information and have him escorted there; inform him that I'll join him shortly."

 _"Of course, Your Highness."_

She cast a regretful expression toward Han, who merely offered her a crooked smile and shooed her off with a hand.

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart, it won't take long for me to finish calibrating this piece of osik." Han's smile grew sly and he waggled his eyebrows. "Go do your Princess stuff and when you come back, you can make it up to me."

Leia stood up and smoothed down her light-blue dress before maneuvering her way around the crescent-shaped seat around the dejarik table. Gliding across the _Falcon_ 's deck toward the engineering station which had held Han's attention for the better part of two hours, Leia stood on the tiptoes of her feet and kissed Han's stubbled cheek. "Don't worry, hotshot, it can't be too serious or it would be Mon they'd be seeking out. I'll be back soon."

"And make it up to me?" Han pressed, lopsided smile in full force.

Raising an imperious eyebrow, Leia crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "I'll consider it. No promises."

Turning on her heel, she walked off with an aggravated huff, preparing to make one of those dramatic exits she knew Han secretly adored. However, when she turned around the corner leading to the _Falcon_ 's ramp, she came face to face with the fanged visage of her recently acquired gray-skinned shadow. Leia barely managed to keep herself from letting out a surprised scream and instead cursed Anakin Skywalker, for at least the 50th time that day, for shoving this overprotective grey shadow into her life.

"I apologize for startling you, Lady Vader, a visitor from Honoghr has arrived. He wishes to speak with you," Khabarakh stated, sounding not at all apologetic.

Leia closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. "Please don't call me that, Khabarakh, you know I don't like it. And how do you even know that he's here?"

The Noghri warrior cocked his head and let out a hiss of…amusement? Ah, so her question about his ability to find incredibly recent, not necessarily public information would go unanswered, typical. Khabarakh was practically the definition of tight-lipped when it came to himself, his people or their capabilities.

"You may not accept the title, but it is with Lady Vader whom he expects to speak," the Noghri growled out. "I do not know if my people received the same message that my kin aboard Lord Vader's ships did, but his being here suggests that."

Leia made a face, but didn't otherwise object.

The Noghri let out another soft hiss. "If they've been given the truth, I do not know what the Dynasts will have decided to do, but I _will_ protect you."

"Until such time as you believe neither Luke nor myself can be trusted to uphold Vader's deal," Leia huffed.

The Noghri bodyguard didn't disagree, merely stared at her for a long moment before he spoke again. "The guest is of my clan, Your Highness. His name is Kahr'corvh and he is as respected for his hunting ability as he is for his levelheadedness. If my people were told of Lord Vader's lies, then it's unlikely that it would be he they chose to collect a blood debt."

"Well, that's marginally reassuring," Han observed dryly, taking a position on Leia's flank and settling a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

Khabarakh's eyes flicked to the Corellian before settling back onto Leia. "Your consort may come as well."

Though her eyes widened at his choice of words, Leia couldn't stop the smirk from appearing when she heard Han start to splutter indignantly. "Consort, stay here and fix our ship. I have an ambassador to receive," she declared, lifting her nose in the air as she turned to face him.

Han began muttering something about 'royal pains' as he meandered back to the engineering console. Leia watched him leave, smiling until she turned to the Noghri waiting patiently by the loading ramp. A soft beep and a short exchange of words later and Leia nodded firmly at the lethal shadow she'd recently acquired. "We've been given a meeting place."

Khabarakh nodded but didn't move, black eyes seeming to glitter as they measured her. "He is a well-respected individual among my people, Lady Vader, one whose opinions are held in high regard."

Leia flinched, just as she always did when he called her that, but didn't verbally respond as she had before. It was intentional, she'd learned, a purposeful effort to place her in a frame of mind with which she might better understand the Noghri. They were frighteningly clever, she'd learned early on, minds as agile as their bodies, a cleverness belied by their tendency to use primitive weaponry. Setting her shoulders, Leia gave him a steady look, waiting for Khabarakh to step out of her path.

She glanced at C-3PO, who'd been deactivated by Han after the droid's third attempt to "help" him, and flicked his switch on.

"Oh, my!" the droid cried out.

"Threepio, come with me, I may need an interpreter but I'll definitely need someone to take notes," Leia informed him gravely.

"Your Highness, it would be my pleasure!"

Seeing the Noghri's aggrieved expression, she gave him a smug smile and led both Khabarakh and C-3PO down the _Falcon_ 's ramp into the main hanger of _Home One._

* * *

 **Thirty-seven days after BoE  
Imperial City, Imperial Center**

"So, let me get this straight," Jin-Rio growled, "you want us to stay still and _let_ the Empire get reorganized?"

"All because a few fancy Imps offered you crumbs for their table?" a man demanded incredulously.

"Quiet, quiet, please," Jan pleased, raising his hands to catch their attention. "You've heard their reasoning and if you're willing to put your anger aside for just a moment, you might find yourself in agreement with them."

"No one in this room has any great love for the Empire," Tycho Celchu said softly. "Some of us had our planet destroyed, others had their families murdered, some are discriminated against simply for not being human and some simply because opposing them is the right thing to do."

Wedge nodded his agreement. "Do any of you realize, just how much damage has been done to the Empire? The Empire was destabilized, intentionally, so that it'd be forced to accept an...unusual candidate as Emperor."

"You know who the new Emperor is?" Akabi asked, eyes narrowed with a hard glint.

"He's not the new Emperor _yet_ , but yes, we know the identity of the heir to the Imperial throne," Luke replied honestly. "And we know that the person is sympathetic to our cause. That person, along with several very high-ranking Imperial officers, have made it possible for there to be a peace, for there to be an Empire that isn't built on lies and evil."

"But it's the kriffing Empire!" a man shouted.

"And what would you do if the Empire told you your complaints were valid?" Luke challenged him. "What would you do if the Empire took steps to prevent the worst of their actions from taking place again? What if their policies of discrimination ended? What if their practice of slavery ended? Without Palpatine casting his shadow upon the Empire, what would you do if the Empire proved itself capable of ruling without fear and without the subjugation of others? Is that not worth a cease fire? Is that not worth an investigation?"

There was a moment of silence before shouts echoed through the room once again. Luke rubbed his temples, letting himself slump against a wall as the—

Luke's eyes narrowed. He was tense, stressed, but he felt something else, something…elusive. The presence he'd felt, it was near, _very_ near. Could it possibly be in this building? In this very room?

Luke shut out the noise and narrowed his focus, beginning a slow examination of the people crowding the large hall. He began on the left side, his gaze latching onto each face, extending a gentle probe with each new individual. Like a lure on a fishing pole, he waited for something to bite as his hand slowly came to a rest on his lightsaber. The aggression seemed to grow as he passed over the faces, though he likely wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't already been looking for it. The Force began to thrum with tension and Luke felt himself settle into a ready stance, still ignoring everything but the search for that _hate_ ,

That brown-haired man was staring at him with an intense, fierce expression. Luke tensed and extended his probe and—

Luke blushed at the emotions pulsing from the man; he'd have to find a way to politely decline his proposition when it came. He hurriedly moved his gaze to a woman with the most fascinating red hair that he'd ever seen. It was _beautiful_. He met the woman's green, green eyes and—

The Force abruptly blossomed with such anger and pain that Luke nearly gasped. Those eyes, those green, green eyes bored into him with a depth of hatred that he hadn't seen since his encounter with Domina Tagge. The woman bared her teeth at him and though her body was largely hidden by the others crowding the room, he would've bet a large sum of credits that she was holding a weapon at that moment. The woman's angry eyes suddenly shifted away, her expression becoming shuttered as she turned on her heel with a startling abruptness. Without so much as a glance over her shoulder, the red-haired woman made her way through the crowd until she'd eventually left the room entirely.

Despite the complete idiocy of the idea, he wanted to follow her. He wasn't even sure why. Maybe he wanted to know what he'd done to deserve her anger, or maybe he wanted to find out where she'd learned to use the Force, or maybe he just wanted to get a closer look at her flame-red hair and green, green eyes. It was at that moment he decided he was being a supreme nerf and that he really ought to focus his attention on more important things, like the nonstop angry questions being hurled at Dodonna and the other local Rebel cell leaders.

Yet even as his attention returned to the argument, he kept a small part of himself attuned to the pinprick presence of the woman who'd glared at him so hatefully. That they would soon meet again, he had no doubt and however dangerous she might be, he found himself looking forward to the occasion.

Luke sighed, he really was being a supreme nerf.

* * *

 **That evening**

Alone in the dark of night, Luke sat cross-legged on a piece of smooth, undamaged ferrocrete surrounded by rubble. Almost 300 meters from General Dodonna's safehouse, if she intended him harm then this would be the best opportunity for it. With his hands flat against his knees and his eyes closed, he adopted a meditative pose as he waited.

 _"We found her aboard the Lusankya during our escape. Isard was such a meticulous author in conducting her experiments, so I found it noteworthy that no information concerning her was logged in the system. We know little of her, only that she claims to be a recent, high-profile Imperial defector. She calls herself Mara Jade."_

Luke mulled Dodonna's words, attempting to reconcile the woman's hatred for him with the story Dodonna had presented. When asked about the reasoning for his interest, Luke had merely smiled and remarked that she was very beautiful. It was true enough, but Dodonna's sharp mind knew there was more to it. Luckily, the older man hadn't pressed further.

Jan Dodonna.

Luke shook his head in amazement. Getting him back to the Alliance would be a morale boost of epic proportions, one that would also serve to cement Alliance High Command's faith in him. He didn't like having to think so calculatingly, but time spent with Admiral Piett had certainly engrained the mindset.

The tiniest of ripples within the Force caught his attention eliciting a slow exhalation of air from his mouth as he ended his meditation. Opening his eyes, he flowed to his feet, turning to face the presence that'd been silently creeping toward him. She wore the same bland clothing as before, cheap and oversized in the same fashion as the other escapees but her hair somehow made even the unremarkable clothing into something special. Her striking flame-red hair caught his eye once more, but in conjunction with the ferocity in Mara's eyes, he was reminded uncomfortably of Shira Brie and her betrayal. He shook his head roughly, it was time to focus, _not_ reminisce.

Knowing she'd been detected, Mara Jade dropped the veil that had masked her presence.

She felt... _interesting_. She was powerful, but raw, her potential largely untapped. And yet there was a discipline within her, an awareness that spoke of an impressive level of training. Mara Jade, thank the stars, _didn't_ feel like someone who'd embraced the dark side, but neither did she seem close to the light. Attempting to get a feel for her emotions, for her thoughts, proved useless; each attempt felt like the equivalent of running into a duracrete wall. There was only one other interesting thing of note, that being lightsaber hilt clasped in her right hand.

Luke made no move for his own lightsaber and settled for studying her instead. "Why do you hate me?"

She paused, eyes narrowing and mouth firming into an angry line.

"You _know_ why, Skywalker," she spat.

Spreading his hands wide in a helpless gesture, he shook his head. "I really don't."

 _"She was an agent of the Emperor, my son. She spent most of her life devoting herself to earning her master's approval. Palpatine gave her just enough attention to validate her loyalty, shamelessly using and manipulating her."_

Luke barely contained his reaction as his father walked from behind him toward the other woman, giving her an intense, searching gaze.

"An agent of the Emperor," Luke repeatedly softly aloud.

Mara flinched. "He was my master and you and that karking, respirator-on-legs apprentice of his _betrayed_ and _murdered him_."

Luke's eyebrows rose. "From a certain point of view, that might be considered the truth. Would you be willing to accept another?"

His father gave him an incredulous look, scowling as he mouthed " _certain point of view._ " Rolling his eyes, Anakin continued circling around the oblivious figure of Mara Jade. _"Palpatine sent her a vision of our fight aboard the Death Star, a false one that came with a compulsion to kill you. Luke, my son, do not fight her. You are far stronger in the Force, but she is an experienced assassin whose skills in the Force are aligned to complement that role. Do not fight her, not now, not yet."_

"There is no other point of view, Skywalker. I saw what you did, I saw what _Vader_ did. And now here you are on Imperial Center itself, working with the Empire to destroy the stability that my master offered to the galaxy!"

 _"Mara Jade was the most devoted of his agents, one of his Hands. She believed she was the only one with that appellation but that was merely another one of Palpatine's lies to bind her to him. Your old friend, Shira Brie, and Maarek Stele and Roganda Ismaren are just three such Hands."_

Luke winced after hearing Shira Brie's name; that explained a lot, not that it made what happened any better. Apparently, she and Mara were alike in ways that extended far beyond the color of their hair. "You're wrong about what happened, Mara Jade, your master lied to you."

Anakin shook his head, waving his hands frantically. " _Shavit, Luke, that's not how you calm an angry woman down!_ "

His father's words were proven lamentably accurate as the magenta blade of a lightsaber ignited with a _snap-hiss_. Surroundings lit with an eerie purple light, Luke could only barely make out Mara's features hidden by the brightness of blade and the dark of the night, but the anger there was unmistakable.

"I have no wish to fight you, Mara."

"Then I'll grant you a mercy you don't deserve and make it quick!"

Mara leaped onto the crumbling remains of a retaining wall before launching herself at him, bringing her lightsaber down with an overhead swing.

 _"Watch her feet, Luke, after the swing she's going to try knocking you down. Don't let her get too close!"_

Despite his initial reluctance to fight her, self-preservation inevitably won out. Luke called his lightsaber to his hand and thumbed the switch on.

Then she was on him, purple and emerald blades clashing with jarring force. Taking his father's words to heart, instead of using his strength to meet her blade, he allowed the force of her overhand swing to push him onto his back. Taken by surprise from the sudden lack of resistance, he shot his legs up, catching Mara's overbalanced form in the chest before flinging the woman over his own body.

Scrambling to his feet, he'd managed to get himself upright at the same time she planted her hands and kicked herself upwards. Seconds later and their blades met again, green and violent blades striking against one another with a sharp sound before twirling away in a hum. Their blades met again and again, Luke having to avoid multiple kicks intended for his kneecap and groin while Mara struggled to avoid debris that he flung toward her with the Force. A small pebble managed to clip the redhead on the shoulder, a distraction that proved to be enough for Luke cut a deep furrow in the bicep of the opposite arm.

Mara Jade flinched, but instead of backing away launched a vicious kick toward his knee. He avoided the dislocated kneecap by bending down and twisting slightly to the side, catching the kick in the meaty part of his thigh instead. He twirled the lightsaber around and brought it upwards in a move that would've taken her leg off at mid-thigh, but she simply dropped to the ground and swiped her blade upwards.

He deflected the sweeping slash of her lightsaber by batting it away from him, only to receive an elbow that was redirected from his windpipe to his face by ducking his head down. The flare of pain was an unwelcome surprise, a sign that even if he'd avoided having his throat crushed, the elbow had clearly managed to break something else.

" _Did I not say she was an assassin!? Luke, use the Force, you're not going to win like this!"_

"Shut the kriff up, Father, I'm busy!" he hissed out.

Mara didn't even seem to hear his words, however, so intent was she on decapitating him with a swing from behind. Luke brought his blade behind him to block her strike, twisting in place until he raised a hand and delivered an open palm strike against her face.

She stumbled back and brought a hand to her face before staring at him incredulously. Deciding to avoid any possible awkward mid-fight questions about his slapping her, he quickly moved toward her. Bringing his blade up in a rapid slash, he used the momentum of her answering deflection to twirl the saber in his hand to bring it underneath her guard. She stepped into his space, avoiding the blade and shot her free hand upwards, catching his chin and snapping his head back with the force of the jab.

Despite feeling as though his jawbone had somehow multiplied in movable parts, he still managed to sense the imminent danger at his back. He parried the thrust that would've taken him in the chest and stepped back, looped an arm around hers and used his size to flip her onto her back. She landed with a heavy thud and immediately swung her blade out. Luke jumped over the blade, only to have the vibroblade she'd palmed bury itself in the side of his leg after he landed. He lurched backwards even as she scrambled upwards, lunging toward him with a silent snarl.

He brought his saber down to avoid her riposte, twisted his head to the size to avoid another punch, and swore when her booted foot caught him in the gut. Instead of backing up from her next swing, he gestured to a loose piece of ferrocrete directly beneath her and brought it upwards. The credit chip-sized rock shot upwards, catching Mara beneath the chin with a loud 'crack'. Mara stumbled back with a pained cry.

"We don't have to fight, Mara, just put the lightsaber down and I'll tell you the truth of what happened!"

Speaking the words through his injured mouth was agony, but he had to say them, he had to give her the choice.

In response, she reached down, grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in his face.

He turned his head away to avoid it, and feeling the Force's warning, quickly brought his saber overhead to block her underhand slash. He thrust his blade out, the tip just barely penetrating the flesh of her thigh before she danced back. She punted a small chunk of ferrocrete toward him, which he waved away with a quick gesture before deflecting a slash that would've bisected him at the waist.

She swept her purple blade up, waiting till it clashed with his own green blade before she planted one foot in the ground and performing a high kick that would've clipped him in his already damaged jaw had he not stepped back. He didn't avoid the pain entirely, unfortunately, because the high kick still managed to clip him in the side. He heard as much as felt several of his ribs break under the force of the blow, a blow that renewed the agony emanating from the vibroblade wound in his leg as he stumbled back.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed past the pain and stepped forward, feinting a thrust that turned into an underhand strike with a lightning fast twirl of his blade. The Hand's magenta blade knocked his aside with depressing ease and Luke was hard-pressed to bring his saber up in time to catch her overhand blow. Forcing his mouth to form the proper sounds, he grunted out, "Your master has lied to you, Hand!"

Mara froze and stared at him with wide eyes. Then her eyes, those green eyes that were so compelling, narrowed with anger. She spat out a mouthful of blood at his feet, with each of her following words sending little ripples of her pain into the Force. "So, you know who I am? No surprise, not when you worked with _Vader_. You'll have to do better than that!"

Spitting out another mouthful of blood, the Emperor's Hand whirled toward him with a lightsaber that spun as gracefully as she herself did. Luke brought his saber up and then to the side, blocking the first and then the second slash. Pressing forward, she locked her saber against his own, taking advantage of their nearness to land three darting jabs into the joint of his left shoulder. The new surge of pain caused by the dislocated shoulder sent him reeling back. He used the flat of his right arm to knock away another fist and used his larger mass to shove her off with enough force that his body became overbalanced with its own momentum. While having escaped the danger posed by her lethal martial abilities, Mara demonstrated her capabilities as an assassin yet again. Even as the redhead was flung backwards, she was able to bring her recently freed lightsaber down fast enough to send a line of fire down his unprotected back.

Luke cried out at the familiar sensation of burning flesh and wanted to vomit at the nauseating scent of charred flesh. He felt her darting toward him to finish the kill and flung out an arm, calling upon the Force to send a wave of power that threw the woman back. Standing as still as he could to avoid jarring any of his wounds, he took advantage of their distance to use the only advantage he had left.

Pointedly ignoring the similarities in his tactic with the one his father had used against him on Bespin, he gestured to a nearby pebble and sent it zipping toward Mara. Mara was able to turn the pebble away with her own power without much difficulty and continued her advance. Luke sent another, and another, and another until Mara's strength and focus began to falter as she was overwhelmed by the number of projectiles being flung toward her. Luke used his experience and all of his power to send more and more objects in her direction and her faltering focus finally broke entirely. A coin sides pebble slipped through her defenses and skipped across her scalp, opening a long cut that immediately began to bleed crimson across her pale skin.

A rock twice the size of his fist spun through the air, crashing into her side with a sickening 'thud'. Even in the midst of the whirlwind of dirt, dust and rocks, the sound of bones snapping like twigs echoed in the night like a blaster shot. A desperate effort on her part managed to deflect a large rock from crashing into her kneecap, but a small pebble caught the trigger finger of Mara's outflung hand, snapping it backwards. Crying out in pain, Mara fell to her knees and eventually to the ground, curling herself into a tight ball, covering her most vulnerable parts while grunting in pain with every pebble that ricocheted off of her back and legs.

 _"Luke, it's over! You can stop now!"_

Hearing his father's seemingly far away words, Luke opened his hands wide and spread his fingers, dissipating the howling tempest of debris that'd been circling around Mara's huddled form like a sabercat testing wounded prey. There was no more purple light illuminating the world around them, only the bright emerald of his lightsaber remained. He took a step toward Mara's limp form and barely kept himself from screaming as every part of his body simultaneously revolted and told him bad of an idea it was to attempt movement.

Standing awkwardly, he wondered how he was actually supposed to proceed. The muscles across his back pulled on the lightsaber wound, his ribs ached with every step, the flesh around the dagger wound burned and there was still a Hand of the Emperor who needed containing. He breathed in and released it slowly, centering himself. He took another step, and another, gritting his teeth each time but able to keep the pain from overpowering his senses.

"Lord Vader."

Luke stiffened. "Meewalh?"

"Yes. You require aid."

Luke thought about denying the fact for a whole two seconds before he told his pride to get spaced. "Yes, it seems that I do. I'm going to need some help getting back to the Rebel safehouse; it's not far. As long as I can find shelter, I should be able to heal most of the damage quickly."

"Your foe still lives."

The subtext of that statement was obviously "shall I kill her?" _Aunt Beru would be horrified if she could me now,_ Luke thought morosely.

 _"You'd be better off killing her, my son, it would be a mercy. She believes her world is over and the only thing that remains is the need for her to kill you."_

"It wasn't long ago that you had a very similar attitude, Father."

 _"Even if they were for the most nefarious of reasons, never in the darkest of moments did I truly want you dead, my son. But keeping one such as she alive and imprisoned would cruel,"_ Anakin said softly.

Meewalh, whose gray-skinned form had finally emerged from the darkness, cocked her head at his one-sided conversation with thin air, but seemed content to remain silent and keep an eye on the unconscious Mara Jade.

"Can I remove the compulsion?" Luke asked, eyes lingering on the woman's form.

Anakin crouched next to Mara, tilting his head this way and that. " _No, not now by yourself, at least. You'll need to develop your mental abilities, your ability to heal the mind, to have an understanding of what's been done to her. Without her consent, doing so will require even more strength on your part and could have adverse effects for her."_

Luke limped several meters to the remaining wall of what was once a small building of some sort. Careful not to scrape his wounded back against the rough stone, he tested his weight and leaned against it, hoping to find some relief for his aching body. Instead, he nearly screamed in pain.

" _Your shoulder's dislocated_ ," Anakin observed helpfully. " _When did she even do that?_ "

"I think it was between the second and third time she nearly shoved her lightsaber straight up my shebs," Luke grunted.

Glancing at the quiet Noghri, a thought occurred to him which made him cast an irritated glare toward the female warrior. "Meewalh? I'm assuming that you've been following me?"

The Noghri snorted.

Taking that as a "well, obviously!" Luke's eyes narrowed even further. "Is there a reason you didn't intervene?"

"Interceding in the middle of a lightsaber duel typically ends poorly for those without the Force," Meewalh replied with an amused hiss.

Luke would've rolled his eyes, but even that felt too painful to attempt again. Nodding in the direction of the Rebel safehouse, he ordered softly, "Go to the safehouse, find my squadmates and ask them to come down here. I would appreciate it if they brought a stretcher—"

" _Two stretchers, Luke, you're barely standing."_

Luke counted to ten. " _Two_ stretchers, please."

Meewalh bowed her head. "Of course, Lo—"

Luke coughed.

"—Commander Skywalker."

" _You make "Lord Vader" look a lot better than I ever did,"_ Anakin murmured approvingly. " _Although, I never had my ass kicked by a woman quite so thoroughly. You should watch that; the Empire doesn't have much respect for women. This would be very embarrassing for you if they found out how badly she worked you over."_

"I hate you."

" _No, you don't. I'd also recommend taking her_ _lightsaber_ aw _ay before she wakes up._ "

Luke sighed and raised his lightsaber, looking for the glint of metal in the emerald light that would be Jade's lightsaber hilt. After finding the hilt and calling it to him, he gave it a curious inspection before clipping both blades onto his belt.

 _"Ah, her lightsaber will make a fine addition to your collection."_ Anakin cackled for a moment before letting out a series of exaggerated hacking coughs. At Luke's bewildered stare, the spirit of his father shrugged unashamedly. " _You had to be there. Anyway, did you know that there's a_ karking _big knife sticking out of your leg."_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** If you're going to leave feedback for this chapter, I'd appreciate your opinions on:  
1) Was Mara's anger toward Luke over the top?  
2) Did the fight sequence last too long?  
3) Did the fight's progress/conclusion seem to match up with what you know of the characters?  
\- I explain some of my reasoning for #3 below.  
4) How's the pace of the story?  
5) So far, feedback has been excellent regarding the quality of my characters and the general premise, is there anything you'd like to see more/less of?  
\- Character requests are likely to be ignored, I'm talking about working with what's already there.

I hadn't originally wanted to have Luke and Mara fight so soon after meeting and certainly not at the level of ferocity that they did. However, as much as I wanted them to find insta-true-love, I decided that it was a little too unrealistic/mushy for my tastes for me to throw in there. I mean, Mara didn't meet Luke _years_ after Palpatine's death and that was _after_ mellowing out (relatively speaking) with Karrde's crew. I always thought that, more than hate or wrath, her initial antipathy was her bitterness. So, while we know how that story develops, here we have Luke encountering her a little more than a month after Palpatine went kaboom and Mara, well, she's still in her hate phase with the Emperor's voice even more prominent than it'd been in canon. In any case, Mara will not be turning into Luke's true love after one chapter nor will she be going strictly good guy. That's just the way the cookie crumbles, folks.

As for the fight itself, Mara was a trained assassin but her Force training was very limited, serving more to augment her natural abilities than to grant her any true mastery. The combat training Luke had received from the Alliance was nowhere near that of Mara's while Mara's not inconsiderable skills in the Force weren't on par with Luke's. As such, Mara was able to kick Luke's ass with relative ease and Luke had to fall back on the Force to survive and win the fight.

Things that annoy me in fanfiction: this applies to all fanfiction, but I hate it when the user inserts song lyrics into a story without any real reason. Putting a quote, even a lengthy one at the beginning of a chapter is acceptable in my mind (as you might've noticed). That being said, I was reading a Star Wars fanfic the other day where a chapter led off with a mock conversation between two non-existent characters (the voices of the author?) which was followed by the lyrics to a My Chemical Romance song. The actual content of the chapter made up less than half of the total chapter length. /rant


	12. Chapter Eleven

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Goddamnit. I was working on chapter 13 when I switched to 11 to cross-reference something. Of course, that was when I somehow copied chapter 13's content into chapter 11. _And clicked save._ Long story short, after failing to recover the data I had to start from scratch. Just so I can share with you my pain…that was over 8,000 words of a chapter that I'd nearly finished editing. There was much annoyance, many tears, much banging of my head against the wall, much swearing at celestial beings/deities and a vast quantity of ice cream consumption to cope with my dismal failure of being careful. It was rough. So that's the story behind the delay.

I worked hard to give my rewritten chapter the same structure/outline and various little clips that it used to have, but I just don't think it's as good it was before. If you're disappointed by the chapter, I assure you that I'm even more pissed than you could believe because damn…it was _perfect_ before I lost it all. However you feel about the chapter, be assured that I've already saved my upcoming chapters ahead of time and Ch. 12 should be released a little earlier than expected as a way of saying, "Oops, sorry, now pay attention to this new shiny thing."

Moving on. Thank you, everyone, for the feedback and answers you provided. While a lot of it was very positive, pat-myself-on-the-back sort of feedback, there were some constructive points that have given me some good food for thought. The most prevalent of complaints was about the pace of my story. Namely, how the fuck have I gotten this far in a story without any seemingly significant plot development. It's a fair point. Two of my favorite writers are Tom Clancy and David Weber, two gentlemen who habitually flesh out every single scene, character and subplot imaginable. While the quality of my writing doesn't compare to theirs, it's something I appreciate in their writing and a trait I try to express in my own humble attempts.

As for the other feedback, I assure you that I read each and every one and while I may not agree or act upon them, I _always_ take a moment to consider them. Once again, thank you for the feedback and don't ever hesitate to tell me how much you think I'm screwing something up. Except on this chapter.

* * *

 **###**

 _"I have to say, this sounds like the worst idea in a thousand generations of bad ideas."_  
 _— Luke Skywalker_

 **#**

 **Thirty-eight days after BoE  
Imperial City, Imperial Center**

Pain.

Luke's world, at this time, in this place, seemed to revolve around the sensation. He wasn't sure when the last time he'd felt this bad, but it was definitely on the verge of Bespin-level agony.

It wasn't just the knife in his leg. Or the lightsaber slice on his back. Or the broken bones. No, it was mostly the fact that, unlike in the aftermath of Bespin, it wasn't Leia who was tending his wounds and offering him comfort. It was something far worse; listening to Plourr's occasional appreciative remarks for the knife embedded in his flesh was bringing that Bespin threshold closer and closer.

"Well, it definitely missed the bone," Plourr informed her attentive audience, manipulating Luke's leg to get a better look, heedless of his hiss of pain. "I think the handle is made out of some sort of bone. This really is a lovely blade, Boss, are you sure I can't keep it? Anyway, it doesn't seem to have nicked any arteries or there'd be a lot more of your red sauce on the floor from when I jostled your leg earlier."

Luke, face pressed down against a pillow on the narrow length of the black plasteel table, sighed heavily. On the outside, it might look as though his friends' whimsical attitudes demonstrated a lack of caring about his condition, that their lack of sincerity was a sign of disrespect.

Okay, and so maybe it was but there was more to it than that.

He'd spent enough time with all of them to know that this is the way they coped. His injuries weren't life-threatening, therefore they'd make light of them and tease him, ostensibly to distract him from his pain. Had the wounds been more significant, they would've been _quiet_ which was so uncharacteristic of the bunch that it would've been equally disturbing. But that was the way of the Rogues, to spit in the face of pain and injury and offer silence only when nothing could be said to make things right. As much as they irritated him at times, that they still treated him as one of their own after all this time, after all that had happened, evoked a depth of caring he held for few others. Even if they were annoying the _kriff_ out of him right now.

Following his duel with Mara, Meewalh had carried out his request and roused the Rogues to his aid. When they'd come upon him, they'd been _quiet_ , the extent of his injuries difficult to make out in the darkness of the night. The light of their glowrods quickly revealed his lightsaber wound and Wedge had been firm about taking him back to General Dodonna's safe house where supplies were more abundant.

Luke had argued against that plan, however, an impressive feat when doing so with a jaw that seemed to have a few too many pieces. Instead, he was adamant that they bring him, and Mara Jade, to the isolated residential building that Meewalh had been occupying for the last day. Pointing out that bringing an Imperial shuttle to a Rebel safe house wasn't conducive to inspiring trust had been a fair point. His concern for keeping Mara Jade out of both Imperial and Rebel custody without his being there had been slightly less convincing.

After another minute of arguments, pleas and threats, the Rogues finally acquiesced and had half-supported him, half-carried him away. The Rogues' quiet behavior persisted until they'd arrived at Meewalh's hideaway, where Tycho and Hobbie had cataloged his injuries. They'd declared that "he looked like shit and you're going to feel a lot of pain" but "you probably aren't going to die." Predictably, this evaluation resulted in the Rogues' behavior normalizing and reducing their level of maturity by a solid decade or two.

It was then that Tycho left, traveling a safe distance away in order to call in for medical supplies with the Noghri in tow to advise him on bypassing Imperial protocols. Wedge had also taken the opportunity to leave and scout the area to determine whether Luke's fight had been noticed or not, leaving Luke to be subjected to the combined childishness of Rogue Squadron.

"My prognosis is that he'll live," Plourr announced gravely. "The more important question is whether he'll live with the knowledge that he just had his ass handed to him by someone two-thirds his size."

"Size matters not," Luke muttered, cringing as the dull ache in his jaw flared.

Kirst snorted, "Your jaw is broken, moron, stop talking." The blonde paused, head canted to the side. "Or, if you're feeling benevolent, do speak, seeing as Janson thrives on the misery of others."

"Misery, pain, suffering…what's not to like?" Janson asked with a shrug.

Plourr chuckled and nodded to Janson. With a wink, the bald Eiattuan leaned over Luke's body, eyes locked on Janson as she purred, "Nothing wrong with a little pain."

Janson's face turned slightly green and he hurriedly shifted topics. "So when can we yank the knife out?"

Four rapid knocks against the surface of the entry hatch prompted a plethora of blasters to be unholstered and pointed toward the hatch. After another belated two knocks, blasters were carefully lowered as the door slid open to reveal the grim-faced, blue-eyed, blonde-haired individual burdened with a heavy looking box.

"Gods, Plourr, you and Janson either need to be quiet or shut your mouths entirely," Tycho growled, entering the room on the heels of the small, grey-skinned form of Meewalh. "Kriff, I could hear you from outside."

Both Human and Noghri carried their boxes toward Luke's side, setting them down by his cot and opening them to reveal a variety of medical instruments, salves, bandages, various painkillers, sedatives and the like. "Will, Standro, set up the table Meewalh brought and put She-Who-Kicked-Luke's-ass onto it."

Despite the pain, Luke forced himself to defend himself with a hoarse objection, "I won!"

"Using the Force was cheating," Hobbie nodded solemnly, "and apparently she handles a lightsaber a lot better than you."

"Children, shut it," Tycho snapped, turned to the Shistavanen wolfman and faltered, "Riv… Why don't you just stay there? No offense, but getting your hair into their wounds isn't likely to help them convalesce."

Riv yipped out a laugh and withdrew to a safer distance, finding a chair to collapse and curl into. Plourr looked pained as she restrained herself from calling him _cute_ , thankfully she'd learned her lesson after the fifth time when he'd made a chew toy out of her leg.

A noise suddenly attracted their attention and, again, every single member of the squadron snapped their blaster pistol to point at the door. The blasters lowered only when Wedge Antilles's features were revealed as he passed through the threshold.

"You didn't use the knock," Janson observed disapprovingly.

Letting the door slide shut behind him, the Rogue Squadron's intrepid Corellian C.O. let out a deep breath and ignored Janson. "Looks clear, don't see any of Jan's people walking about."

Tycho grunted his acknowledgment, hands busy slathering on a foul-smelling substance over the worst of Luke's abrasions and scrapes. It was a smell Luke was only too familiar with and made him wrinkle his nose in reaction.

"So, what are we doing with the redhead?" Hobbie asked.

"Luke didn't want to kill her," Wedge replied. "Assuming he didn't slip into the evil side, I think he'd want us to bandage her wounds. Right, Boss?"

Luke gave him a weak thumbs-up before letting out a muffled yelp when Plourr's questing fingers jerked his broken nose back into place. This was followed shortly by bacta patches being applied to the lightsaber wound on his back and a wrapping for his chest to support the broken ribs.

"Boss…you are my comrade, my friend, you're the squadron commander that I'll always aspire to be, but I hope you have a good reason for going off on your own like that or I'm going to take that lightsaber and shove it so far up your ass that every time you open your mouth all we'll hear is the sound of it humming," Wedge replied, coming to stand by Luke to loom over the young Jedi.

The effect was ruined by Luke inability to see him while his body was facing down, but Wedge trusted that his point was made.

"He has a broken jaw, Wedge," Kirst reminded him.

"Then speak slowly," Wedge insisted.

"How would _that_ help?" Hobbie wondered.

Wedge glowered at the other man. "Hobbie…"

The Ralltirri winced and fell silent.

"If you were there," Luke replied, mouth moving as little possible, "she would've used you against me. I couldn't have protected you and dealt with her at the same time. Ow…"

"Do you know who she is?" Tycho replied.

Luke began to nod before he thought better of it. Instead, he pointed at Meewalh.

"A Hand of the Emperor, one of his assassins," the Noghri rasped.

"This was our first day on Coruscant…and she was literally one of the first dozen people you met. Stang! What kind of kriffing luck do you have?" Wedge exclaimed.

Plourr cleared her throat, "Can I keep the knife?"

"No," Wedge, Tycho and Luke replied in unison.

"Speaking of," Tycho replied, "we really do need to get that knife out of you and snap that shoulder back into its socket."

"Ow," Luke complained.

"We haven't even started yet and you're already complaining," Wedge marveled. "Alright, so if we deal with either one, chances are he'll exacerbate his other injury when he begins flailing in agony."

Luke let out another sigh and muttered, "I hate you."

"So, we do both at the same time? Shoulder followed immediately by the knife?" Tycho asked, ignoring Luke. "Wedge, hold his legs down, Plourr, you take out the knife and I'll set his shoulder. Boss…this is going to royally suck, want something to bite down on?"

Luke grunted out a soft, "No."

Will and Standro, having cuffed the bandaged redhead to a nearby durasteel girder, came over with the others to watch until they all surrounded him. The customary mocking humor that they often treated Luke with had disappeared, worry and concern having taken its place.

"On the count of three," Wedge announced, hands carefully avoiding the knife wound as they clamped down around his friend's legs. "One…two…"

Plourr yanked the knife out in one swift motion.

Tycho pulled Luke's left arm downward while carefully adjusting Luke's shoulder blade until the joint popped back into its socket.

Luke let out a hoarse shout that was abruptly cut short when he passed out.

And, of course, it was at that moment that the front door to their small hideaway opened once again.

* * *

Jan Dodonna listened to the young scout's report carefully, frowning thoughtfully. "Jak, you're as efficient as I've been led to believe. Good work, you and the rest of the Brigade are a credit to your generation and the Rebellion. Although, I hope you understand that my offer is and always will be open to you and your friends."

"We aren't gonna quit! We hate the Empire just like you!" The young man, a boy really, adamantly shook his head. "We're Rebels just as much as you. We came all the way from CoCo Town because we heard about you. We hear things, you know? Adults never expect us kids to listen, but we do."

Jan hid his smile and raised his hands in a calming gesture. "I understand, Jak, I merely worry about you."

Jak looked away, avoiding Jan's eyes as he shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "Yeah, whatever, I gotta go, Streaks is waitin' on me."

Before Jan could say a word, the teenager raced off into the night. He sighed heavily. The 'Anklebiter Brigade' had proved to be a surprisingly effective resource to other cells on Coruscant, but using the youth in such a way was a physically painful thing to stomach. Nevertheless, the information Jak had shared was interesting enough that he'd personally investigate. After all, it wasn't often that one heard the distant sound of a fight accompanied by the sight of two glowrods "whacking" into one another.

Sighing, he made his way to the large room where Commander Skywalker had claimed for he and his squadron, taking care to remain quiet while the majority of the compound continued to slumber. Arriving at the closed door, he knocked on it several times. Waited. Knocked again.

Jan cautiously opened the door, not at all surprised to see that the room within was empty.

Pausing, he considered the situation. If the scene Jak had reported was what he suspected, which the absence of Skywalker might indicate, where would he go when… When he died? When he was injured? When he was victorious?

If Skywalker had died, he thought it unlikely that his comrades would have bothered to be quiet in their exodus. Yet, if he'd been victorious, surely he and his squadron would've returned by now. And if he were injured, why would they go elsewhere?

"Because Commander Skywalker requires medical attention that we either can't provide or wish to avoid answering unwanted questions," he murmured to himself. "He'd be out of sight, but not so far that the commander can't be moved there with relative ease."

He considered the geography of the area for a moment before he gave a firm nod of his head. One of the cell leaders had mentioned that there'd been an observation post that they'd recently abandoned because of the fighting; a residential structure at a higher elevation that wasn't more than a klick away. Oh yes, that was definitely a place that would be ideal to provide medical attention without prying eyes and questions. Returning to the main hall, he glanced at the armed human and Twi'lek guards who'd shifted into the civilian approximation of "at attention."

"At ease, gentlebeings, I'll be taking a stroll." Noting their posture, he held up a staying hand, "On my own. I'm not infirm, you know, not yet."

Their embarrassed, horrified expressions nearly elicited another smile from Jan, but he maintained his calm façade and brushed past them. Akabi and the bulk of her closest subordinates were out on another patrol near the crashed Star Destroyer, which left him with a dilemma. He really should have an escort, he knew the measure of his value to the Alliance, but the situation was simply too complex. With everyone so on edge and faced with the possibility that he might be confronted by _friendly_ Imperials, he wasn't willing to risk bringing someone he didn't know into that tense of a situation. Well, if he encountered any trouble, at least he had his holdout blaster.

#

After almost 15 minutes of a slow uphill climb, the small building was in sight, just as the cell leader had described. Inside the supposedly abandoned building, soft light could be made out from within. Cautiously approaching the entrance, the sound of voices echoing from within could just barely be heard. When he walked even closer, now within just a meter of the door, he could clearly make out the soft, muffle voice of Commander Antilles.

 _Might as well see what the damage is then_ , Jan thought to himself before taking a deep breath. With the power on the fritz in the district, he ignored the access panel and simply slid the door open. The sight which awaited him was surprising, to say the least.

* * *

Jan Dodonna was an observant man with a keen eye and an analytical mind that'd made him an effective military leader in the Clone Wars and in the Rebellion. Hearing a pained scream, he didn't even hesitate to draw his blaster and step all the way inside. There were four things that he was immediately confronted with that required neither his keen eye nor his analytical mind or process. _Understanding_ those four things was a different matter, and their presence left him with the sudden inexplicable desire to return to his captivity in the Lusankya, where things were just so much simpler.

The first thing wasn't something he saw so much as he felt. More specifically, it was the feeling of something extremely sharp being held against his carotid artery. He had time enough to note its odd curved shape before he devoted the rest of his attention to dropping his blaster and remaining _extremely_ still. The second thing came on the heels of the first.

The short creature holding aforementioned blade was of an unfamiliar species, dressed in a simple brown jerkin and pants while hosting an impressive array of weaponry. It had grey skin, a snout filled with fangs, sharp claws and black eyes that were watching him with an unwavering, unblinking gaze. It didn't speak to him, merely kept him immobile by the feather-light pressure of the weapon against his throat.

Forcing himself to look past the short creature watching him naked distrust and aggression, he was faced with expressions of shock from each member of Rogue Squadron save one. The face down, unmoving form of Skywalker on a table answered the question about the source of the scream, but the sight of one of the two female pilots admiring a bloody vibroblade over their commander's battered body raised even more. That was the third thing and it truly made Lusankya look better and better.

The fourth and final thing he noticed was Mara Jade's equally bloody and battered body leaning against a metal girder, hands looped around it and cuffed together. As he took stock of her condition, she let out a low moan and seemed to be regaining consciousness. That process was cut off abruptly when Janson quickly strode over and brought the butt of his blaster rifle down on the redhead's skull with a sickening thud.

There was only a brief period of silence before Commander Antilles cleared his throat, "Meewalh, he can be trusted."

The grey-skinned creature nodded, letting out a disapproving growl before it withdrew the blade being held against his throat.

"I appear to have missed something," Jan finally said, "would you care to fill me in, Commander Antilles?"

#

"A broken nose; already set just needs a splint. Two jaw fractures, stab wound in his left calf and bruising over most of his chest. He'll probably be pissing blood later tonight if that bruise over his kidney is any indication. He also has one broken rib, two cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder that you walked in on us resetting—"

Interrupting Tycho's litany, Janson cleared his throat loudly and held up a finger, "And he fainted."

The blonde-haired Alderaanian glowered at the other man for a handful of seconds before he waved his hand to indicate Luke's back. "—and one lightsaber wound across his back. Luke's damn lucky that it was an almost vertical slash to the side or he'd probably be paralyzed from a bisected spine."

Jan shook his head mutely before nodding toward Mara.

Hobbie, who'd been standing closest to the redhead, stepped back to point to her various injuries.

"Bruises over most of her body, two broken ribs, one broken finger, a cracked jaw bone with a missing tooth, a furrow in the left bicep and shallow stab wound in the thigh, both of which have properties consistent with a lightsaber wound," Hobbie reported, looking at the still unconscious redhead with unconcealed distaste.

Jan looked at the young woman and sighed; she'd held such promise as a fighter and intelligence asset and he'd fervently hoped that the conflicted woman would find a home with the Rebellion. "Commander Skywalker isn't wrong about the dangers of bringing her back to my people for safeguarding, treachery and deception committed by one of our own isn't acceptable. Leaving her in his care, or in the Empire's would be best in regards to her safety."

Commander Antilles made a face but nodded his agreement.

"Why did he want her alive?" Jan asked curiously.

This time it was Janson who answered, his usual sarcasm missing. "The Boss has always had a bit of a hero complex. Ever since blasting off of Tatooine and rescuing Princess Organa, he hasn't been able to resist the opportunity to rescue someone, even from themselves. Hell, even Vader—"

Janson cut off abruptly when the blonde-haired woman, Kirst, stepped on Janson's foot.

"Commander Skywalker tried to rescue…Darth Vader?" The Commenorian general gaped at the collective assemblage of Rogue Squadron.

The pilots gave each other uncertain looks and remained quiet. Wedge Antilles finally broke the silence when he said softly, "He did not _try_ to save Darth Vader, he _did_ save Vader. It was Vader who killed the Emperor, and he did it in order to save Luke."

Jan stared at the Corellian, feeling as though he were on an unstable bridge that might collapse at any moment. He opened his mouth to ask the obvious question, but the shuttered expressions of the X-Wing pilots made it clear that no more answers on the subject would be provided. Mind still whirling, he considered the situation.

"Obviously Skywalker cannot remain here because of his injuries," he finally said, voice shaky. "If Mara Jade _is_ a Force user then my people won't be able to contain her, not without permanently sedating her. Go, take Commander Skywalker to receive advanced medical care that only the Empire can provide on Coruscant. They'll undoubtedly have a better means of containing a hostile Force user."

"And the Rebel cells?" Commander Antilles prompted.

"I don't know how, but somehow I'll convince the others to comply with Skywalker's request to cease offensive actions. But that can only last so long," Dodonna warned, stroking his long beard as he turned his gaze from Skywalker to Antilles. "If my people don't see change, if they don't see that this new Empire will be something different, something better, then they _will_ eventually resume hostilities."

"I'll make sure he knows that," Wedge promised with a bow of his head. "We'll move a short distance away before calling in evac in order to keep your people hidden. Our X-Wings are a short distance away, so their presence should be enough to prevent your people from making any hasty and regretful decisions in dealing with the Imp shuttle."

Jan nodded. "Very well then. It was a pleasure to meet the rest of your squadron, Commander Antilles. And it was good to see you, Lieutenant Janson, Lieutenant Klivian, once again. Good luck to you all, and may the Force be with you."

* * *

Luke had woken about 45 minutes after he'd passed out and quickly caught up to what had transpired since he'd first passed out. Knowing that Dodonna had arrived during that period was alarming, but the relief that they'd established some sort of understanding and agreement dispelled the worst of his worries. _More_ alarming on a personal level was the knowledge that he'd be facing a bacta immersion in the very near future, something his back would thank him for and his sense of smell would hate him for.

Almost an hour and a half later, both he and the unconscious Mara Jade were carried to the makeshift landing pad that the _Lambda_ had settled upon. Lando Calrissian had swaggered down the ramp in the company of a pair of black-uniformed Imperial Army medics who descended upon Luke like a swarm of piranha beetles. While he was grateful for their aid, it was somewhat discomforting to see Imps so enthusiastic to _ease_ his pain, but apparently, their Grand Admiral had managed to inspire them to such lengths.

That Grand Admiral was another concern that was gnawing at him

Thrawn, a mysterious and dangerous man who, according to his father, had the capability to derail their plans to his own purposes. A man who held political values more akin to the Empire than those of the Rebellion but whose pragmatism prevented the egregious violations that persisted under Palpatine. In many ways, he was the personification of Luke's vision, but first, he had to sway the Grand Admiral to his side. It would be a daunting task, but one that held incredible potential for the Empire if done so successfully.

Unfortunately, as far as first impressions went, introducing himself as a potentially strong leader while either immobilized in a float gurney or walking with all the deftness an old man would be difficult, to say the least. Closing his eyes, he did his best to release his worries, concerns and physical pain into the Force. If he was going to meet this man soon, he wanted to be able to at least act like a leader even if he looked like something Jabba's rancor had chewed up and spat back out.

At least the shuttle was quiet enough that he could truly think. The rest of Rogue Squadron was in the air, escorting the shuttle to the Imperial Palace. While the shuttle would be landing in one of the more private and secure hangers in the upper reaches of the palace, Rogue Squadron would be settling in a hastily constructed hideaway where both Rebels and Alliance marked X-Wings could be stored out of sight. Hobbie had maintained his firm belief that there were men in place ready to swoop down and replace the Rogues' wardrobes with something sufficiently dark, depressing and Imperial the minute they turned their backs. Luke had refrained from mentioning an offhand remark that Piett had made several days ago.

Whatever indignities the Rogues might be forced to suffer, Luke was sure that Coruscant would endure even worse at their hands. Janson's chilling words less than an hour before were still haunting him; he had no desire to see the aftermath of the Rogues readiness 'to give the Empire's capital a Rogue style hello.'"

The expected body count of such an event was minimal, however the expected property damage…well, that was a different matter. One that, thank the gods, he didn't have to deal with, thanks to a message that Luke had sent to Soontir Fel upon being stashed in the shuttle. Fel hadn't taken his assignment of being the Rogues' minder well, but he'd agreed, allowing Luke to shift his thoughts to the imminent encounter with Thrawn.

Letting out a breath, Luke relaxed as best he could even as his thoughts continued churning.

Not long after that, he, Meewalh and the freshly sedated Mara Jade were loaded aboard, their destination being one of the more discrete and secure landing pads in the upper levels of the mammothlike ziggurat that was the Imperial Palace. As the shuttle flew across Coruscant's skies, Luke considered how he might present himself to the Grand Admiral waiting for him. Given the extent of the visible damage on display, 'not well' seemed the obvious conclusion.

* * *

 **The Imperial Palace, Imperial City**

Hands clasped around his back, Mitth'raw'nuruodo watched as the _Lambda_ came to a gentle landing in the recessed hanger. When the ramp to the shuttle began descending, he unclasped his hands, straightened the white uniform that marked his station and slowly moved forward to meet its occupants.

General Calrissian had informed Admiral Piett that Skywalker had been severely injured during the assignment he'd undertaken. Not mortally so, the Soccoran had said but injured enough that he'd be seeing from the inside of a bacta tank for the next few days. War and battle were violence and death and to expect to emerge unscathed from such events is just foolhardiness. Yet the extent of the visible damage inflicted upon Skywalker was unexpected. By all accounts, the young man was an accomplished fighter so either the reports had been in error or the situation more dangerous than he'd expected.'

Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and Commander of the Alliance of Free Planets, walked carefully down the ramp with the aid of one of Darth Vader's Noghri and General Calrissian. Two medics trailed behind him maneuvering a repulsor stretcher bearing a bound woman who appeared as badly wounded as Skywalker. The young man's gait was slow, his exhaustion plain to see.

Stepping forward, he offered a brief bow of the head. "I am Mitth'raw'nuruodo; Thrawn is the common name I am known by. We are honored by your visit, Commander."

Skywalker offered his own small bow of respect, wincing as he did so. "And I am grateful for your welcome, Grand Admiral. I apologize for my state, I inadvertently discovered one of Palpatine's agents among with Rebel cell."

Thrawn cocked his head. Yes, he supposed that might very well explain the outcome of his mission. "Your mission was successful?"

The young man studied him for a moment before he nodded. "They will not interfere, though there is a limit to that agreement that is contingent upon my promise for a better Empire."

 _A better Empire_ , Thrawn mused, tasting the sound of the words.

Skywalker's lips curled into a small smile. "We can talk about that more soon enough, Grand Admiral, once I've recovered."

"Of course, Commander. Your…prisoner?"

The Jedi glanced aside at the incapacitated woman and sighed. "She is Force-sensitive and trained as an assassin. Please see to it that she's properly contained and her wounds treated."

"My people have the resources left from our earlier attack on the Ruling Council to keep her secure," the Noghri warrior rasped. "Additional security is welcome but unnecessary."

"Then please see to it, Meewalh," Skywalker answered. "Grand Admiral?"

"I will have my medics tend to her wounds and keep her sedated until you are well enough to deal with her yourself," Thrawn assured the young man.

"Alright. That sounds…good. If you don't mind…I believe I need to rest," the young Jedi replied in a strained voice.

Thrawn withdrew a few steps and bowed once more. "Of course, Commander, may your healing be swift and without complications. I look forward to our next encounter."

The Jedi offered a wan smile in reply.

Turning, Thrawn began his journey back inside the palace to speak with Piett. In light of Skywalker's injuries, this was an opportune moment to discuss that information broker the Axxilan admiral had mentioned as a means of conveying information to the Rebellion. If Karrde was as impressive as Piett had inferred, then the broker represented a valuable resource that'd been neglected.

If things went as expected, the meeting would be brief and he'd be able to return to his own ship soon enough. There was an individual on the _Admonitor_ whose thoughts he looked forward to hearing regarding the young Jedi. A man whose own rare insights into the Empire's agents that might shed light on the mysterious woman.

* * *

 **Aboard the _Admonitor_  
Imperial Center orbit, Imperial Center system**

"Maarek, thank you for joining me."

The cool voice filled the small briefing room; the only evidence of life in the room encased by darkness. A single viewport gave an unobstructed view of the bustling ecumenopolis below but Maarek Stele's eye was drawn to the only significant source of light in the room, the image of Luke Skywalker. The holoprojector rested in the center of a glossy, obsidian-like table surrounded by four inert black repulsorchairs. Surrounded by featureless black walls, a black ceiling, and a glossy, black metallic floor, the briefing room gave the impression of being as cold as the speaker of the words that greeted him upon his arrival.

Through experience on their recent campaign together, Maarek was fully aware that the coldness of the room was incomparable to that of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

"You met the boy?" Maarek asked flatly.

"Only for a moment, he had an encounter that resulted in severe physical injuries."

"I was under the impression that the situation should've been relatively easy for him to resolve, or at least safe to make the attempt. Is he so inept at handling his allies or is he unable to defend himself adequately?"

" _Colonel_ Stele, one would think you'd know better than anyone that complications are a matter of course in military service."

"Yes, Grand Admiral," the black-haired man pressed, "and _you_ taught me that one should not only expect but plan for such complications."

"Sadly, Commander Skywalker has been without the benefit of my tutelage," the blue-skinned, red-eyed Chiss replied dryly.

Maarek grimaced and continued to study the image. "What did you make of him, Grand Admiral?" he asked in a much softer voice.

"Were I to ascribe to him a personal failing that we might exploit, I believe it would be his faith in his friends. Admiral Piett and Captain Pellaeon's reports indicated that Skywalker grants his comrades an unprecedented amount of freedom as their commanding officer. That they stay in line suggests that his faith in them is returned in full. Those in his company are naturally the ones he trusts most, so they cannot be a representation of all those he might've led in the Alliance, but that these few trust him even after learning of his heritage is significant."

"His expression is…very open," Maarek replied. The hologram of Luke Skywalker showed his battered face, but still obviously earnest in whatever he'd been saying at the time the picture had been taken.

Thrawn came to stand on the opposite side of the table, red eyes gleaming through the blue holographic projection. "Yes. One of the more problematic qualities of the man that are already evident. Without having had the chance to speak with him at any great length, I can only make calculated guesses about Skywalker. For now, that will have to suffice while Captain Parck continues to compare our data on Skywalker with the observations Piett has collected."

"Ah, sifting through the propaganda, are you?"

"Propaganda has its benefits, Tan Stele, none of which affect the credibility of intelligence reports positively," the Chiss deadpanned.

Letting out a snort of amusement, the pilot considered the image and let his eyes drift shut. Reaching out, he extended his senses and felt—

"Shavit!" Maarek Stele's eyes snapped open and locked with the waiting red-eyed gaze of the Grand Admiral. "How did they miss him? How was he never found by the Empire? Grand Admiral…"

Thrawn merely nodded. "He is the son of Darth Vader, that he'd be strong in the Force was never in question. What remains in question is his ability to lead, and if his ability to lead will take the Empire in the right direction."

"And if he can't or it doesn't?" Maarek asked, shaking his head as if to bat away the bright light emanating from the planet below.

"Then he will die, Colonel Maarek, either by our hands or by those of another. Now, onto another matter which you, in particular, might shed light on. Commander Skywalker was quite wounded, as you can see. What you did _not_ see, however, is the lightsaber wound across his back and the woman presumably responsible for his wounds. He claimed she was Force-sensitive and an assassin."

Maarek's expression grew more shuttered, "You believe she was another Hand?"

Thrawn tilted his head, "The Emperor trained many to act as his agents, some more capable than others. Perhaps she served as a Hand, perhaps she was merely an Inquisitor, there is no way of knowing yet. What is significant is that Skywalker not only survived their encounter but also _captured_ her. I believe your earlier dismissal of his combat abilities was in error."

"Perhaps," the stern-faced man allowed grudgingly. "Will I be joining you on your next venture to Imperial Center?"

"Yes," Thrawn affirmed simply. Gesturing to the image, the Chiss's expression grew more contemplating as he began, "Maarek, there is a binary system in the Arkanis sector that is home to Commander Skywalker's home planet of Tatooine. Tell me, outside of what is readily available on the HoloNet, what do you know of it, of its people, perhaps even of its art?"

* * *

 **Thirty-eight days after BoE  
Aboard the _Praetor Mark II_ -class battlecruiser _Ilthmar's Fist_  
Annaj system, Moddell sector**

"Admiral Harrsk?"

The thin, grey-haired man brushed his fingers against the new scars on his face. 3 _5 millimeters to the left and I'd be ruined, either a bloated corpse or brain damaged. Just 35 millimeters._

Blinking, Blitzer refocused on the projection of the other officer. "Pardon me, Admiral Prittick, I was merely considering the information."

 _35 millimeters._

"And what are your thoughts on the matter?" the other man pressed.

"By your own report, the planet of Bakura is no longer under Imperial control and the Alliance is quickly gaining ground in the Outer Rim. We, on the other hand, appear to be utterly paralyzed," Blitzer replied. "And Imperial Center appears to be under the thumb of a nonhuman parading in the uniform of a Grand Admiral."

"Indeed, and our own Admiral Piett appears to be a willing participant in such a travesty," Prittick sniffed in disdain. "This, however, has presented an unexpected opportunity that we might use to take back our Empire."

"Grant Admiral Octavian Grant reached out to me not one hour ago, presumably because he was under the impression that I was in command of the fleet," Adye Prittick informed him, the words "like I should have been" unspoken but heard all the same. "This Grand Admiral that's taken up residence at Imperial Center is apparently known to him and Grant has taken _exception_ to the "blue-skinned freak" soiling its skies."

Harrsk's eyebrows went up and he couldn't help but quip, "Good friends, are they?"

"Quite right," Prittick replied just as dryly. "Nevertheless, Grand Admiral Grant is currently laying low with Grand Moff Kaine, who controls dozens of Star Destroyers along with his flagship, the _Reaper,_ a Super Star Destroyer."

Harrsk blinked. "You propose that we join forces with Grant?"

" _He_ proposed, actually," Prittick replied, "Kaine intends to form a coalition with several other unaligned parties, to gather and strike from the Outer Rim to take the Core back and then destroy the Rebellion."

"Have you met either of the two men? No, Admiral Harrsk, but I don't see that we have much choice. We cannot linger in the system for any longer and taking action by ourselves will be met without much change for long-term success."

Harrsk let out a soft breath, hoping that the relief he felt wasn't evident in his appearance. "I agree. When does he expect a response?"

"He informed me that we have two weeks to respond. If we wish to join his coalition, then we must travel to a designated set of coordinates before that period ends. From there, he intends to lead us to a place called "Bastion."

"Very well. I'll issue fleet orders in two standard hours and depart the system in six. The _Judicator_ reported that its repairs were nearly complete and that Captain Brandei intended to run a final shakedown cruise before declaring it fit for battle," Harrsk announced.

Prittick nodded curtly and disappeared from view as the projection ended.

He let out a long, audible sigh of relief. Prittick had been correct that they couldn't linger in the system any longer; already Rebel scouting parties were making sweeps into the system, but there hadn't been any decent alternatives. And now there were and the fleet was no longer entirely dependent on his choices.

Blitzer Harrsk brushed a finger across his face again and sighed. _What would have happened if that shrapnel had hit me? The medic said I'd either be dead or parts of my brain would've been removed. Would I have made the same decision?_

 _35 millimeters._

Blitzer lowered his hand slowly and clenched it into a fist. There was no more time for this, he needed to begin planning to destroy the nonhuman Grand Admiral, the traitorous Piett and whatever puppet they put onto the throne. The Rebellion could wait for now, there was an Empire waiting to be claimed and he intended to be on the side that won it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I know Thrawn's involvement with the chapter has to be disappointing. I assure you, his role will begin to ramp up from here on out. Very little information is ever given about _Ilthmar's Fist_ , only that it's a "battlecruiser" which can apply to a whole bunch of ships, so I chose the one I thought most applicable. Blitzer Harrsk goes sort of Tyler Durden in Legends canon. That wound actually resulted in him having brain damage which gave him a weird, maniacal multiple personality disorder complex. That was fun, but I decided to side-step that particular plot.

A question about plastoid armor: So, I know it's kind of a running gag that stormtroopers can't shoot a damn thing, but there's also the question about the dubious protection offered by stormtrooper armor. If you look at the applications of plastoid armor, it's more for environmental protection against vacuum, temperatures and toxins or collateral damage against shrapnel, projectiles and the like. It offers limited protection against blasters and is supposed to be _nearly_ impervious against projectiles.

Let's examine the facts now, shall we? In ANH, Leia kills a stormtrooper on the _Tantive IV_ with a _sporting blaster_. That's like the .22 of the Star Wars universe, meant more for "gettin' them critters off my property" than for armored Imperial soldiers. Still, overlooking that, things go more smoothly for the rest of the movie along with ESB, most deaths being fairly rational and understandable, until the dark times, until the Ewoks.

What the actual fuck? I _loved_ RoTJ just as I loved all of the movies, but the teddy bear uprising gave me serious pause. Watching a stone-tipped arrow shot by a wooden-bow wielded by a waist-high native actually penetrate the armor of a stormtrooper and kill him made me groan aloud. I believe that it was approximately at this moment that marked the beginning of Lucas's phase of Gungans and increasingly ridiculous sounding battle droids. I love you Lucas and crew…but goddamnit.

Things that annoy me about Star Wars fanfiction: Ugh, run into this one all the time: Confusing Nubian and Nabooian/Naboo. Nubia and Naboo were two different planets. The yacht used to escape Naboo in the Phantom Menace was designed and manufactured by a Nubian company. Padmè was not Nubian, she was Nabooian (or just Naboo). Nubian might sound right, might roll off the tongue a little easier, but it's still wrong.

Also, fanfiction stories in general ickiness: inserting a character (usually an OC or as part of a time travel/crossover plot) into canonical situations where they do nothing except steal other characters' dialog in order to make the character more involved. This is often accompanied by destroying other characters' personalities while failing to give the new character any real substance. (They usually turn into either an uber-conflicted person or a personality that believes in truth, justice, and the whole shebang. For example, every OC character ever written to act as Luke Skywalker's wife in the Legends universe.)

And one more: Inserting yourself/Earthlings into the Star Wars universe, _especially_ if the premise involves someone having seen the movies or some shit. There is nothing more annoying than a story where John/Jane Smith from Kansas/equally bland state is stuck in Mos Eisley already knowing that Luke's daddy is Vader (Apologies to those from Kansas).

/rant

Just to reassure you all that I don't actually hate all Star Wars fanfiction stories, I want to give a shout-out to Ash Darklighter's story, _Out of the Shadows._ It's a fucking _amazing_ story and it's a damn tragedy that it was never finished. I would bow at the writer's feet if it'd provide any incentive to finish it. Go check it out, hands down one of my top favorite fanfiction stories, Star Wars or otherwise, that I've ever read. His other story, _Spirit of the Shifting Sands,_ is just as spectacular. And my current favorite story that I'm reading is _A Family Affair_ by twm2002.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Twelve**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Once again, thanks for all the feedback, especially those of you kind enough to point out my mistakes or ask me about forgotten subplots from a million chapters ago! The first part of this story is, in part, a response to your letting me know. I'm also constantly amazed at the positive feedback regarding my author's notes. In truth, I expected to have been told to STFU, stop preaching so much, and write the goddamn story. So, I appreciate that you all take the time to listen (read) me bitch.

Moving on: alright folks, there really isn't going to be a whole lot of plot development happening in this chapter, but it's definitely something of a landmark moment for Luke. I had a lot of fun writing it, though, and I hope you'll like it. There are a few concepts here that you might recognize from the comics that take place after the FotJ novels which I thought appropriate for the story, so have fun with that.

Heads up: I'm going to write one more chapter after this before I _finally_ try to wrap up Thor's Slayers _again_.

And finally, a brief shout to another fanfiction story that I currently adore: _A Peculiar Dream_ by LPK9. Amazing, amazing story.

( **EDIT** ): Had to remove the chapter and re-add it because I forgot to add a section. Sorry! Now, enjoy the story!

* * *

 **###**

 _"There are times when the end justifies the means. But when you build an argument based on a whole series of such times, you may find that you've constructed an entire philosophy of evil."_  
 _― Luke Skywalker_

 **#**

 **Forty days after BoE  
Darcc's palace, Kashyyyk  
Kashyyyk system, Mytaranor sector**

"Excellent specimens," Merili purred, pacing the length of the palace's brightly lit, covered hanger as she examined the collared and chained Wookiees. "They should fetch quite the price."

The Trandoshan slaver gave the Dathomiri woman a smile that was all sharp fangs. "The Empire demands strong slaves and few slaves are stronger than our Wookiees. Those who fail to cooperate…well, their pelts are much valued by my people."

"Careful, Pekt, this is a joint venture and I expect to be given my due cut. Don't let your greed blind you to the danger you'll face if you should cross me," Moff Darcc interjected frostily.

"Of course, Moff," Pekt hissed, "am I free to leave now?"

"In a moment, my _superior_ wishes to speak with you," Hindane Darcc sneered.

Merili tsked, "Mind your tone or I will cut it out and feed it to these animals." She jerked her head to indicate the Wookiees before pointing a finger at Darcc. "Syn is my disciple, a true believer in the Church and you will treat your _superior_ officer with all the respect a Grand Admiral is owed."

Darcc wisely remained silent, but the Moff's eyes glinted with the derision he left unspoken.

The sound of armored footsteps made them all turn to face a black-uniformed officer flanked by a trio of stormtroopers striding toward them.

"Moff Darcc, Colonel Ohnley reports that Grand Admiral Syn's shuttle has departed the orbital platform and is on its way here, as requested."

Hindane gave the man a disinterested look. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Stay here and guard the beasts with the others. The wildlife on this planet so often requires lessons on Imperial superiority."

Pekt's lips curled involuntarily but anything he said was cut off when Merili gave him that disturbing smile of hers. The Trandoshan turned and walked away instead, lashing out against a young Wookiee looking decided more rebellious than Pekt would tolerate. The Wookiee let out a loud, pained yowl as Pekt's claws left deep, bloody furrows in its side.

Merili let out a musical laugh. "You're ruining that pelt you covet so highly. Pity that you allow your emotions such control over your actions. They make a slave out of you, lizard."

The Trandoshan slaver said nothing, just stood with his back turned to the others and waited for this Grand Admiral of theirs to make his appearance.

Not even five minutes had passed when a rumbling beneath their feet alerted them to the platform upon which they stood rising to the surface. Overhead, the ceiling began to part, splitting open to let in the light of Kashyyyk as they rose toward it. The ceiling had receded into the metal walls surrounding the platform and the platform itself now stood in the open air of the planet.

No longer protected on all sides, one might think they were suddenly exposed. But even though the lush greenery of the planet stood not even 100 meters from them, they were well protected. Surrounding Darcc's palace was a fully-manned perimeter wall and frequent patrols of Imperial troopers walked both in and outside the compound. Security droids, those hovering over the ground acting as simple sentries along with armed battle droids were also present. In the distance, the distinctive sound of Imperial walkers could be heard, likely clearing out additional jungle for expansion.

The booming sound of the arrival shuttle soon filled the air and they watched with varying degrees of interest as the orbital jumper came to a soft landing just outside of the pad.

When the ramp finally lowered, a bulky, unsmiling individual stalked toward them. Wearing a freshly pressed, white uniform complete with golden pauldrons. Standing at his back were a pair of heavily armed shock troopers serving as bodyguards to the Grand Admiral.

The assembled company of stormtroopers stiffened to attention as the Grand Admiral walked past them. Merili breezed past the others to warmly embrace the Grand Admiral.

"Pecatti, it's been _ages_!" the Dathomiri witch simpered.

Grand Admiral Syn raised a cynical eyebrow, but his gaze was soft. "Prophetess, I'm especially glad that you're here. I've received some troubling information about the situation on Imperial Center; I have dire need of your guidance."

"My guidance will always be offered, if you but ask." Merili stepped back from the larger man and turned until they were side by side. "My companions, Moff Darcc and Pekt, the slaver who has made this enterprise so profitable."

"Ah, yes," Syn nodded thoughtfully. The Grand Admiral walked past Merili until he stood in front of Pekt, hands clasped around his back. "I understand your people have quite the history with the Wookiees, I am pleased that your enmity hasn't blinded you to the possibilities they offer as a resource."

The Trandoshan nodded and gestured to the group of Wookiees behind him and hissed, "My latest catch."

"So, I see. Yes, they do look like a collection of rather healthy individuals. I imagine the profit they'll reap will go to great lengths in securing a Sith artifact that was recently liberated from one of the late Emperor's collections," the Grand Admiral murmured.

"The deterioration of the Empire continues then?" Moff Darcc asked bitterly.

"For now, eventually someone will assume command and bring the systems back into line. Until then, we are relatively free to go about our own business ventures." The Grand Admiral smiled thinly at his companions. The subject of who will bring order to the Empire is why I'm here, as a matter of fact, but we'll get to that as soon as our friend, here, has departed."

Pecatti Syn moved past the stiff Trandoshan slaver to get a closer look at the Wookiee captives. "This one," he pointed at a Wookiee, "as I understand it, those with his color markings are particularly rare."

"Yes," Pekt replied. "Wookiees with silver-tipped fur fetch an extremely high price."

"He was found attempting to sneak into the base," Darcc sneered, "another hoping to free his people, no doubt."

"No doubt," Syn mused. "Well, Pekt, I'm pleased to see that our joint venture has been so profitable. I look forward to seeing what you can deliver in the future."

"Of course, Grand Admiral," the slaver hissed. "We will—"

A serious of massive booms filled the air, followed by clouds of smoke billowing from a nearby wall section that, even as they watched, began to crumble apart. A deafening roar of noise followed on the heels of the explosion, a roar that spilled from the throats of a charging horde of Wookiees that began firing a mixed array of blasters and heavier repeaters at nearby troopers. Elsewhere, an AT-ST collapsed as a surface missile slammed into one of its vulnerable leg joints.

Grand Admiral Syn whirled around. "Order out the remainder of the garrison," he shouted, "I want each and every one of those beasts killed. Give me the pelts of any you're able to capture and we'll hang them from the walls. I want—"

The Grand Admiral's orders were abruptly silenced as a thick, furry arm grasped his head and twisted it 180 degrees. Had Grand Admiral Pecatti Syn been able to comprehend the sight in front of him, he would've seen the snarling visage of the silver-tipped Wookiee, free of his bonds, withdrawing his arm and firing a blaster at nearby stormtroopers.

The lieutenant who'd been standing nearby, rather than putting down the escaped Wookiee, was freeing other Wookiee prisoners. Even as on hand deactivated pair after pair of stuncuffs, the lieutenant wielded his own blaster, his first bolt catching Merili square in the face, felling the woman without so much as a sound.

"Take his head, Chen; bounty requires proof of death so we'll give it to them. But hurry, we need to get out of here before your friends operate under the assumption that I'm no friend at all," a feminine voice shouted from the helmeted lieutenant. "I like my arms where they are and I don't want to die dressed as an Imp."

The Wookiee roared a warning, causing Tinian to drop to the ground, just as the stormtrooper lurking behind a stack of barrels fired at her unprotected back. The silver-tipped Wookiee raised his own blaster and blasted a hole through the stormtrooper's helmet.

"Blast! We need to get out of here, Chen! And where did all your friends get their weapons?!" Tinian shouted. The woman freed the last of the Wookiee captives and immediately dragged her partner to safety behind a wall of supply crates.

Standing up from her crouch, she caught another two stormtroopers before answering fire forced her back under cover. "You have the head?" Tinian shouted.

Chenlambec replied by dangling the Grand Admiral's head near her face.

"Gah!" The scream, which she would later deny having ever uttered, came shrill and loud.

"Freeze!"

The two bounty hunters whirled around to face…

"You're not Imps!" Tinian I'att practically accused the duo.

"You're holding a head," the scruffy-faced man almost shouted, his voice holding a hint of wariness, disgust and utter incredulity.

Beside her, Chen roared a wary greeting.

A returning wary greeting was roared by the Wookiee standing next to the man.

"Toss your weapons on the ground and put your hands up," the man growled.

She grimaced and, exchanging a nod with Chen, tossed her blaster onto the ground and put her hands up. Behind the man, Tinian watched as a trio of humans wearing camouflaged fatigues approached from the side, carrying the struggling form of Moff Darcc.

"General Solo, look what we caught trying to steal that flashy little Jumper out on the landing pad?"

Tinian wrinkled her nose at the sight of the red-faced, spluttering governor. "You should give him to the Wookiees."

The Wookiee standing next to the general roared his approval.

"I like the way you think, Chewie. Page, would you mind taking the good Moff to Chenachochan? I'm sure Itchy has plenty he'd like to say to him."

One of the camouflaged soldiers gave the Moff a grim smile. "Dansra, take this trash out, will ya?"

A female human nodded curtly and dragged the protesting Moff away.

Chen warbled something softly in Tinian's ear.

"Wait, _General_ _Solo_?" the bounty hunter blurted.

The Corellian turned to her once again and raised an eyebrow. "Since we've established that you're _probably_ not an Imp, why don't you take that helmet off and have proper introductions, hm?"

Reaching back with her plasteel-armored gloves, she slowly lifted the stormtrooper helmet from her head and slowly shook her head to let her auburn hair fall around her shoulders.

Solo squinted at her, then at her companion and finally at the head. His nose wrinkled as if he'd smelled something foul. "Bounty hunters," he spat. "Tinian I'att and Ch…"

Chewbacca growled softly.

"Chenlambec," Solo finished, "that's what I was going to say, Chewie. Yeah, you two were on our tail for a while, weren't you?"

Chewbacca rolled his eyes, an amusing expression to observe on such an imposing figure, Tinian had always thought.

"Something like that," she shrugged, "ended up going after Bossk."

Chewie growled something _extremely_ unflattering about the Trandoshan bounty hunter.

"Yeah, you said it. So, you were here for the Grand Admiral, huh?" the Corellian continued.

"What was your first clue?" Tinian glanced pointedly over her shoulder at the decapitated corpse and then at the bloody head in her companion's furry hand. She blew out a frustrated breath, "Did you, by any chance, see a Trandoshan on your way here? He's someone I was hoping to run into."

A short distance away a loud roar echoed throughout the compound as a crowd of angry Wookiees emerged from the interior of the palace, turning with the rest of their small group, she watched as the Trandoshan in question was hauled out back into daylight. Well, what was _left_ of the reptilian slaver, anyway.

"Ouch," Han commented unsympathetically, "couldn't have happened to a bigger piece of shit."

Tinian cleared her throat.

Han Solo gave her a _look_. "So, someone put a hit out on a Grand Admiral? _Ballsy_."

Tinian returned his _look_. "Someone organized a Wookiee resistance and lead an army while the Imperial Navy still holds the skies? _Ballsy_. Besides, it's not just a Grand Admiral, Solo. Fierfek! There've been hundreds of bounties recently posted for Moffs, Grand Moffs, admirals and even trading organization leaders. It's practically open season on the scum of the universe."

Solo fell quiet, as eyes narrowed. "Don't worry about the Navy, we have it covered. The right access codes and a copied voice pattern telling his fellow Imperials to kriff off goes a long way to granting us some privacy, but none of that is your concern. What do you think, Chewie, what should we do with them?"

Chewbacca growled and warbled a question directed toward Chen.

"I'm right here, Chewbacca, so you can ask me the question!" Tinian snarked. "No, I told you, we weren't actually after you, we were after Bossk. Now, are you going to get that knot out of your fur and let us go, or are we going to keep pretending like you aren't intending on doing that anyway?"

The commando, Page, barked out a laugh.

Solo huffed. "Get you, your furry friend and that lovely, _dripping_ prize out of here. Those Star Destroyers won't be distracted forever and I'd just as soon be gone when the Avatar platform goes boom."

The redheaded bounty hunter flashed Solo a grin. "Appreciate it, _General_ Solo. Say, if they took a smuggler and made him a general, would I rank admiral if I decided to enlist?"

"Don't push it, red." The Corellian crossed his arms across his black vest, glowering at her. "Now get, before I change my mind!"

As if to punctuate the danger, another explosion made the ground tremble while a plume of smoke erupted from a nearby building that'd been holding out against the Wookiee incursion.

Tinian nodded and turned, but before she took so much as a step, she glanced over her shoulder and met Solo's eyes. "Hey, General, good luck with Kashyyyk, yeah? This place deserves better."

Chen growled softly and sidled in next to the much smaller woman.

"Now, don't get mushy!" the young woman growled and swiftly departed, making a beeline to the nearest shuttle.

The Wookiee bounty hunter followed behind his partner with a gruff laugh.

#

Han Solo watched as the two bounty hunters and the skull of the late Grand Admiral Syn disappeared through the chin hatch of a nearby _Nu_ shuttle. Beside him, he heard Chewie growl something, a question soon echoed by Lieutenant Page.

"You think that bounty had something to do with Commander Skywalker? Or...his father?" Judder asked quietly.

"I don't know, but it takes a lot of credits to put out a bounty on someone like Syn and expect someone to try for it. If we hadn't attacked, I bet they would've waited until they were on the platform or on the shuttle to make their move. It doesn't matter, the worst of the Imperial trash in this system is dead now and as far as I'm concerned, those two were a part of clean-up crew just as we were."

The commando nodded. "I already have Delevar sending messages with Wookiee runners to tell their people to lay low. Once we bug out, it's a near certainty that the Wookiees will be on the receiving end of the Empire's displeasure."

"That's why we're making sure we leave our fingerprints all over the place and giving them warning. Hopefully, the worst of the anger will be directed at us, but at least Itchy and the others will be prepared. Page, get that long-range comm system set up, we need to get a message to High Command before we bug out."

Lieutenant Page nodded and offered a salute. "You got it, General."

* * *

 **Forty days after BoE  
Myrkr, Nouane sector**

"Boss, incoming message on your direct line."

Talon Karrde looked up from the datapad he'd been studying and glanced at his blonde-haired underling.

"Imp admiral, Firmus Piett, Darth Vader's second-in-command of Death Squadron. 'e says he has a proposal for you," Aves explained.

Karrde sighed. "Imperial proposals seem to be coming all too frequently these days."

"Yessir," Aves agreed, "but between him and that new Grand Admiral—"

"Thrawn," Talon interjected mildly.

"Thrawn," Aves repeated obediently while glaring at his employer, "between them two ruling Imperial Center's skies, Piett is arguably one of the most powerful men in the Core. You read those reports about major manufacturing and shipbuilding companies deciding to send representatives to Imperial Center all of a sudden?"

"The new Emperor, who has yet to announce himself, is preparing his economic base before revealing his face to the rest of the galaxy. An intelligent tactic in any situation, but particularly one in the case that the heir is either unpopular or unknown. And now, as you say, one of the more powerful men in the Core has decided to send our humble operation a message," Karrde mused.

"It'd be bad manners to keep the man waiting," the blonde smuggler noted, nodding toward the blinking hypercomm unit.

The black-haired intelligence broker nodded, but didn't move and instead stroked his goatee. "It would, but it'd be bad business to rush to answer his call, just as it would be bad business to begin considering ourselves allies, partners, or subordinates of the Empire. We took Wrenga Jixton's offer because he was a relatively neutral party serving a dead man, that is a far cry from serving an active duty Imperial admiral whose political agenda might now encompass the entire galaxy."

Aves shrugged and waited.

"Did he say what it was about?" Karrde finally asked.

"Well, he did add that, not only would it be mutually beneficial, but that it likely wouldn't violate your boundaries concerning political neutrality."

Talon Karrde bowed his head and counted to ten. "You couldn't have mentioned that before, Aves?"

"And miss your spectacular display of inner conflict while you weigh monetary gain against political non-involvement? I'd as soon remain silent, if you don't mind," Aves replied cheekily, blue eyes glinting with humor.

"You are replaceable, you know," Karrde muttered. "Next time, tie that in or I'll sic Sturm and Drang on you."

The two vornskrs dozing at Karrde's feet perked up as they heard their names spoken.

"Aww, your boys love me, they wouldn't harm me, now would you boys?" Aves cooed. "Now, Boss, come speak to the nice Imperial, why don't you?"

#

Karrde sat back heavily as the communication ended. _Karrde, old boy, you've really stepped into it now…_ he thought.

"Boss?"

Aves, who entered the room the moment the comm signal had been terminated, stepped fully in before sealing the hatch behind him. The smuggler's typical good humor was absent at seeing his employer's expression and he took a seat nearby, awaiting instructions.

"I've agreed to a deal, possibly a long-term arrangement with the Empire," Karrde finally replied numbly.

Aves blinked and then his eyebrows furrowed. "I thought you didn't want to be involved… Did they threaten you!?"

"A long-term arrangement with the Empire," Karrde said again, repeating himself as though Aves had never spoken, "to provide a secure line of communication and courier service with the _Rebellion_."

After a choking fit, Aves fell silent for what felt like an eternity before he finally whispered, "Bloody hell."

"And…I've received an invitation to the Imperial Palace; apparently, the as of yet unnamed heir to the throne is interested in meeting me."

The blonde smuggler sat down heavily with a harsh exhalation of air. "Bloody hell," Aves repeated, voice even quieter than before.

Talon reached for a nearby tumbler of whiskey and drained the glass in one swallow. "Yes, that was my opinion on the matter as well."

* * *

 **Forty days after BoE  
Aboard the _Chimaera_  
Imperial Center orbit, Corusca sector**

"Captain Pellaeon," Firmus greeted the older man whose projected image had sprung to life in the wall panel.

"Admiral," Gilad nodded curtly.

"A copy of your new orders are being transmitted to you now, but I wanted to speak with you about them, in person, as it were."

Pellaeon raised an eyebrow and somehow managed to stand even more at attention than he had been before. "Of course, Admiral."

"You will be leading a task force into the Quelii sector, where you'll be tasked with securing several key systems, a stretch of the Hydian Way and the Braxant Run. Those tasks are secondary, however, because your primary task will be to round up the rest of Admiral Zsinj's fleet and either capture, destroy or assume command of those ships."

Gilad Pellaeon's eyes narrowed. "Tying up loose ends?"

"That, and having several dozen Star Destroyers lacking anything resembling a command structure might be an easily exploitable weakness that could yield impressive gains for our burgeoning regime," Piett acknowledged wryly. "Our remaining ships can hold out for only so long. We need the Navy behind us or the next warlord might very well succeed in taking Imperial Center."

"The rest of our fleet, the ones who jumped to Annaj, they won't stay there forever, either. They've likely already left, in fact, and they very well might've heard about some of our _adventures_ ," Pellaeon grumbled.

"An aspect of our situation that the Grand Admiral took into consideration," Piett assured him. "The transmission includes the most recent fleet updates on the Quelii sector's fleet strength, targets and points of interest, and the last known location for his ships and sector refit and rearm depots. You'll be taking a force comprised of ships from both the Grand Admiral's and our own fleet. In truth, Captain, your reputation is sterling enough that it might sway Star Destroyers to your cause without much difficulty. My own reputation as Outer Rim born and as Lord Vader's second isn't nearly so helpful."

The projection of Pellaeon's figure showed a frown. "Has Commander Skywalker been informed?"

Piett grimaced. Planning for the future in the midst of a transition of power was tricky, to say the least; had Skywalker been even half as domineering and aggressive as his father, then he likely would've already danced the mid-air jig while his throat was being slowly crushed for having the temerity to act on his own volition. "Skywalker was only recently released from a bacta tank and has withdrawn to his quarters to engage in a healing trance. We did not have the opportunity to discuss plans however he expressed his confidence in my decision-making abilities."

"Well, isn't that _wizard,"_ Pellaeon grumbled. Then, straightening, the captain offered a crisp salute. "Very well, Admiral, I'll review your orders and send you a formal confirmation once I've contacted the other ship captains."

"Very good, Captain," Piett nodded and moved to end the communication before he suddenly paused. Giving the older officer a wry smile, he offered a parting, "And may the Force be with you."

#

Ending the transmission, Piett finally allowed himself a moment to relax.

"Have faith, Admiral, I have little doubt that his mission will be successful."

Firmus glanced to the side where the blue-skinned Grand Admiral sat shrouded in shadows.

"Emperor Palpatine fashioned an Empire that was conditioned to accept his authority. I always found it amusing that he then encouraged dissension and competition between the most powerful and influential of his followers. By pitting one Grand Moff against another, Isard against Pestage, one corporation against another, he prevented internal competition from ever growing too strong. He used chaos to bring control. Much could be said about his rise to power, yes?"

Piett shifted uneasily on his feet and settled for a curt nod.

The Chiss gave Piett a cool smile, "No war was ever won by remaining immobile in an indefensible position. Mobility is perhaps the most fundamental aspect of strategic and tactical planning and because we are, for now, confined to this system, we must capitalize on other opportunities. This is an understanding that the Rebellion grasped earlier on and we will have to do the same. We need personnel, ships, the logistical facilities to equip both and we need Skywalker on the throne, only then can we be proactive against sectors less likely to fall in light."

Piett straightened and gave Thrawn a firm look. "You'll support Skywalker?"

Thrawn raised a blue-black eyebrow. "Granting the boy my loyalty will immediately limit my choices and delay my plans. However, if he is able to gain momentum and survive, then I will have far more mobility, far more options than I would have otherwise. Few, if any high-ranking Imperial officer would deign to ally himself with me and having to build up my own claim to the galaxy would take both time and secrecy to accumulate the necessary power base."

"And in the long term?" Piett pressed.

"One thing at a time, Admiral, one thing at a time."

* * *

 **Six weeks after BoE**  
 **Imperial City, Imperial Center**

The unremarkable-looking woman acted just as the others around her did, strolling through a bustling commercial district with the other thousands of people. Above and below were sky bridges that connected skyscrapers to gleaming spires and towered over everything in their vicinity. Streams of traffic, honking speeders and the blaring horns of larger transports almost deafening as they jockeyed for position. It wasn't clean, it wasn't elegant or stunning like Alderaan had been, but it was breathtaking in its own right. The sounds, the smells, the people, a massive pile of differentness that made Coruscant so…Coruscant.

The woman continued walking like the others, an unhurried sometimes meandering path while taking the time to speak with others in her unfeigned Core world accent. She did nothing that would separate her from those around her, even occasionally walking into one of the many stores and purchasing some trinket before continuing on her hunt.

A tiny pressure at her waist had her twisting around to pinch the ear of a boy attempting to pick her pocket, glaring at him as he tried to scamper away. Holding his ear at a painful anger, she began berating him and didn't stop until she actually believed the apology he was desperately stammering out. Once he'd dashed out of sight, she'd smiled ruefully and began a conversation with an animated Whiphid who'd been laughing at the scene.

The large, gray-haired street merchant was selling archaic style weaponry from his world at a "cheap and reasonable price." She ended up buying a bone pick that would be equally efficient at either puncturing a person's jugular vein or holding her hair in place. Both were vital attributes to any item she carried with her. But all the while, through attempted pickpocketing and hair/throat pick purchase, she never lost sight of the group she was following.

How could she when _they_ were _here_?

One of the reasons she'd come to this district _had_ been to shop, to enjoy the relative peace found in the aftermath of this most recent battle for Coruscant. Not twenty minutes after her arrival, a raucous group of individuals, laughing and smiling as if they didn't have a care in the world, caught her attention. It might not have attracted her attention in the past, but these days on Coruscant…genuine laughing and smiling were in short supply.

Her first darting glance at the small group had stopped her in her tracks, normally an unforgivable misstep when one was trying to hide themselves, but one that she could hardly be blamed for. After all, it was not often that known members of the Alliance could be found strolling about the walkways of Imperial City.

She'd never met them before but knew instantly who they were. Even if she'd only seen them once in a dossier, she'd know them, such was her curse and her gift.

Tycho Celchu, Alderaanian, 25 years old, 1.73 meters tall, blonde hair and blue eyes.

Wedge Antilles, Corellian, 25 years old, 1.7 meters tall, 77 kg in weight, dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

Isplourrdacartha Estillo, known as Plourr Ilo, one of two remaining members of the Royal House of Eiattu.

Derek "Hobbie" Klivian, Wes Janson, Will Scotian, all familiar faces who hailed from Tanaab, Ralltiir, and Brentaal IV respectfully. All long-term veterans of the Alliance, the former two having flown since before the Battle of Yavin, the latter before Hoth.

The Rodian and the Shistavanen, Standro Jcir and Riv Shiel, were new, as was the other woman of the group, Kirst. But, she remembered them all as well, even if she'd only briefly glanced at their dossier.

She remembered because she _never_ forgot.

She wasn't sure why Rogue Squadron, and it _must_ be Rogue Squadron with those individuals, would be here, but their presence would have to be reported during her next transmission to Alliance High Command. She'd been out of touch with Carlist for far too long because of the communications blackout and she knew exactly how important her reports as Targeter were to General Cracken and the rest of Alliance Intelligence.

Glancing briefly at a nearby shop window, she forced herself not to react when she spied an unusual, troubling image in the glass. She'd hoped that the scene with the pickpocket would've led the creature away, but the short, robed figure that'd been tailing her for the last few minutes remained a constant. It was possible it'd been doing so for even longer than that, given its impressive ability to hide in the shadows, but it was definitely trailing _her_.

Targeter took one last look at the group of pilots before stepping into the next cafe, once again acting as a normal Imperial citizen doing normal Imperial civilian things. She forced herself to look straight ahead as she ordered her meal, unwilling to glance over her shoulder and give away her suspicions. With an inward sigh, she realized she'd have to change her appearance for the second time that week.

What should she do this time? Maybe change her hair color to more of an auburn hue, make some small clothing adjustments to emphasize and increase the perceived size of her breasts. Some sort of tattoo on a visible but subtle location on her body; the nape of her neck, perhaps? Yes, that would do. Her natural white hair coloring, however, remained out of the question. Hiding behind the truth was the best weapon a spy could wield to avoid detection, but her visibility as the adopted daughter of Bail Organa, a man who'd been known as a Rebel sympathizer for years, had given Imperial Intelligence ample opportunity to run a profile on her.

Winter Retrac, known as Targeter to a _very_ select few, waited a full hour before leaving the cafe, meandering through various markets before eventually making her way back to her apartment. She wouldn't risk revealing the location of her hypercomm unit by heading straight there, but tomorrow…tomorrow she'd make sure to get in contact with Carlist and find out what in all the Corellian hells Rogue Squadron was doing on Coruscant.

* * *

 **Six weeks after BoE  
Imperial City, Imperial Center  
Coruscant system, Corusca sector**

Luke sat upright on the edge of his large, obscenely luxurious bed with his eyes closed. Taking deep, even breath, he let go of the lingering discomfort of his injuries and focused on the present.

After his days of treatment in the palace, Luke had deemed himself ready to move out on his own. After three separate bacta immersions and hours and hours of uninterrupted time spent in a healing trance, most of his injuries had fully healed. His nose and jaw fractures had fully mended, his ribs sometimes ached if he exerted himself too much and the synthflesh over the stab wound still felt tight. The lightsaber wound, despite how close the blade had come to crippling him, was more an irritant than anything. He could use another few days to recover, sure, but he was ready to do _something_.

What he _should've_ done is contact Grand Admiral Thrawn or Admiral Piett to discuss their plans for the future, instead his mind turned to the one good thing he'd associated with Coruscant since meeting Ben.

"Meewalh?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"Lord Vader," the raspy voice was quiet, the source of the hiss currently standing in the shadows near the doorway.

The name didn't even make him wince, even if he still cringed inside."Please contact Commander Cody, there's something I'd like to do and he might have the information I need to do it."

Luke opened his eyes when he heard the nearly silent footfalls of his Noghri shadow.

"You are still recovering," she observed, "and others have been waiting."

"I am and they are, but this is something I need to do and I may not have the opportunity again for some time. It won't take long."

Meewalh stared into his eyes before nodded solemnly and withdrew her comlink.

While she contacted the clone, Luke tested the strength of his body and, after being satisfied with its state, headed to the refresher. It was time to make peace with the past and, as one trained in the Force, consider his options for the future; as far as he knew, there was really only one place where he could begin that process.

#

"Lord Vader—"

"Enough Meewalh," Luke declared firmly. "I appreciate your concern, I do, but if I'm to remain anonymous then announcing my identity and walking through the front doors will be the _worst_ thing I could do. You know how well guarded this place is better than I, right? If I have the guards vacate the area, how much _more_ attention will fall upon me from afar?"

The Noghri hissed softly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"I need this," Luke murmured earnestly, "and I need to do this on my own. You, Commander Cody, and the others are all on standby if I'm accosted by ghosts."

Meewalh's nostrils flared. "This is no joking matter."

Luke, feeling braver than he ought to, dared to lay a calming hand on her shoulder. "Who said I was joking? Even from here I can feel the temple and the spirits within."

With a snort, Meewalh looked away to glare at Cody and the nine clones who'd elected themselves to be his armed chauffeurs for the day. They wisely remained silent. She glanced out of the open door of the transport before giving him a curt nod. Shooting her a quick salute, Luke stepped out of the older VAAT/E and fell almost 20 feet before his boots hit the rough stonework of the looming building.

 _Sometimes being a Jedi is really wizard_ , he thought happily as he stood upright. Feeling no ill effects from the drop aside from a twinge in his back, he began his slow, cautious trek onward. Finding the security pylon he'd been warned about, he knelt down and quickly opened the access panel to begin his work. He carefully entered the code Meewalh had given him to shut down a section of the sensor network, waited till the corresponding section of the displayed 3D map turned from green to red before closing the panel back up.

Flipping up the hood of his black robe to conceal his features, he began a slow, cautious trek along the stone steps. He avoided the massive pathway that led to the "front door," and traveled a less overt route that took him to a secondary entrance. Ensconced on one of the sides of the massive edifice, it didn't hold the same level of visibility as the other entrances and had significantly less security. However, less security didn't mean _any_ security and just as Cody had warned him, a contingent of stormtroopers stood guard. They were more alert than he'd have hoped and the path he took meant that his approach was noticed immediately.

Less than 20 meters from the small alcove that held the entrance, the path opened up to a broader square in which the stormtroopers had occupied. Taking a breath, Luke walked into view and paused just a few seconds later when every blaster rifle in sight was pointed squarely at him.

Five stormtroopers, one wearing the orange colored pauldron of a captain, stepped forward, their blasters at the ready. The captain held a blaster with one hand, a pair of stuncuffs with the other. "Halt! You've entered a restricted area, state your name, business for being here and your access code. Failure to provide all three will result in your immediate incarceration."

Luke took a step forward and gestured with his hand, feeling for the captain's mind. "You will grant me entrance and forget about my presence when I am out of sight."

After a short pause, the stormtrooper lowered his blaster and stepped aside and replied complacently, "I will grant you entrance and forget about your presence when you are out of sight."

Luke nodded graciously, a movement largely hidden by the voluminous robe and made sure the mental command had affected the captain along with the rest of his unit. Stepping past the captain and the four troopers flanking him, he made his way past the rest of the reinforced platoon toward the abandoned Jedi Temple. As he drew nearer, he forced himself to take deep breaths to center himself. He hadn't lied to Meewalh; this place was a brilliant beacon in the Force, but there was a repulsive darkness that threatened to turn his stomach if he dwelled on it for too long.

Once, before Bespin, he'd imagined himself coming to Coruscant for this very purpose, where he'd undoubtedly be humbled by the sight, awed by the grandeur, inspired by the former home of the Jedi Order and ever more determined to live up to the legacy of his father. Since then, things had become far more complicated since then. The temple _did_ inspire awe and he _was_ humbled by being here, but it'd been tempered by the awareness of his father's actions and by the cries emanating from the temple that he could feel even from afar.

Both Leia and Mon Mothma had described the Jedi Temple to him, had told him what had transpired there on the eve of the Republic's fall and the Empire's birth. Learning that it was his own father who'd helped the Emperor reduce the temple to its decaying state, his own father whose bloody work sent the bodies of dead Jedi to join the others in a heap at the temple's steps to be burned like so much trash... Of course, it wasn't _just_ his father who'd been responsible, but his culpability and thoroughness in fulfilling his new master's commands were undeniable.

The innocence he'd retained up until Bespin had been quashed swiftly and ruthlessly when he'd been forced to reconcile Mothma's descriptions and his own image of his father, but even in the bleakest of his moods, he'd never stopped wanting to see the temple. Giving his head a rough shake, he climbed a short flight of white, marble stairs, all the while hearing the disturbing blend of screams and laughter of the distant past growing louder and louder in the Force.

Taking the final step up from the stairs, he turned to the right and was immediately confronted by the metallic seal Cody had warned him of that prevented access to the Jedi Temple. The thick, grey metal was entirely unremarkable except for the very center, which was adorned with a white Imperial crest. He stared at it for a long time, wanting nothing more than to rip that door and cast it away; its very presence a mockery to the Jedi, an insult delivered on behalf of Emperor Palpatine and his new empire.

Pausing to let out a ragged breath, he considered the entrance Cody had described. Once again, the clone's knowledge had proved to be unerring all the way down to the fact that there wasn't a visible access panel. This _was_ an entrance but by all appearances. the entrance had been completely walled off, rather than requiring some sort of special code. And why would there be an assigned stormtrooper unit to guard a walled off section of the temple? It'd be easier and quicker to blow an entirely new hole in the temple rather than to try and blast past this metal monstrosity.

An uneasy feeling settled in his gut.

Now that he was close enough, he could see a barely perceptible crack that ran horizontally along the metal. So, it was a door of some kind...but activated by what?

Grimacing, he glanced over his shoulder and considered whether it was worth it to pop back outside for a quick chat with the stormtrooper captain and ask for some advice on breaking in. Luckily, he'd grown wiser in the past few years and that wisdom told him that his proposed tactic was about as stupid as stupid could possibly be.

Apparently, his wisdom delivered its sage advice in the guise of a sarcastic jerk-ass.

Sighing softly, Luke continued his examination of the door. Still grey, still metal, still no access panel, still no keycard scanner and barring a direct hit from a turbolaser or some heavy explosives, that door wasn't opening for him. Still, he did have one ally, a powerful one just as Yoda had once described it, and when conventional methods fail, well…

That's where the Force comes in.

He continued to hesitate, however, because that uneasy feeling hadn't yet dissipated and he was sure, somehow, that the feeling had just as much to do with what lay inside as it did with the door itself. Despite his apprehension, he refused to turn back now and so with great care, he gestured with his hand toward the door and extended his awareness, keeping his mind as tightly shielded as he possibly could.

But the door didn't open, it didn't even budge. His strength in the Force had never been in doubt; Ben, Yoda, his father and even the Emperor had all remarked on his potential, but his level of experience was an entirely different matter. His mental defenses hadn't shielded his mind from his father on the Death Star and had been even less effective against the Emperor. Though his self-discipline and skill in the mental arts had continued to develop, he remained virtually helpless when the Emperor's trap revealed itself.

He wasn't aware of falling to his knees and grasping his head to ease the pressure, only of the waves of emotional agony that overwhelmed him.

 _Fear._

 _Shock_.

 _Anger_.

 _Agony_.

 _Hate._

 _Desperation_.

 _Suffering._

 _Despair_.

Each feeling hammered into his psyche, leaving his soul feeling raw and bruised.

 _Gods, Father, how could you have done this?_

The reason for the sealed entrance was all too clear now, a trap equally cunning and repugnant fashioned by the Emperor. For the layman, only brute force could unseal the entrance and doing so would undoubtedly attract attention of the extremely hostile, unforgiving and Imperial variety. But a Force user might try opening the seal just as he had. In such an event, it wasn't stormtroopers, the Imperial Security Bureau and the other elite troops they'd have to worry about, it'd be the Emperor and his agents that they'd have to contend with.

Luke hadn't even successfully opened the seal but he knew that any Force-sensitive within 50 klicks would've felt _something,_ and those both trained _and_ sensitive enough might've had sensed it from anywhere in the system.

How could it not attract their attention when merely reaching into the Force would unleash the maelstrom into the Force? As close as the Imperial Palace was, he had little doubt that surviving Jedi who'd attempted to recover valuable artifacts had quickly been discovered and summarily dispatched by Jedi hunters.

Luke closed his eyes, steeling himself as he reopened his connection to the Force. Gritting his teeth around the veritable whirlwind of pained cries, he extended a hand and began opening the entrance. Once he heard the creak of metal, he opened his eyes to watch the thick layer of dust bloom outward as the thick, armored doors began retracting vertically. The moment they were open, he closed his connection again, muting but not completely silencing the cries he'd heard in the Force.

Taking one last deep breath, he walked in.

* * *

Wrenga Jixton looked down from his vantage point at the distant Jedi Temple through his electrobinoculars, humming to himself as he traced Luke Skywalker's progress. After his informant had reported activity at the temple, he'd immediately traveled to the makeshift observer post in a nearby abandoned business. Its position on the higher levels on a nearby tower gave it a perfect view of the temple, though even his _extremely_ expensive equipment had difficulty capturing Skywalker's figure and making his profile identifiable. And though he'd missed the outdated VAAT/E's initial arrival, he had arrived fast enough to witness the encounter between the stormtroopers and Skywalker along one of the sloping sides of the Jedi Temple.

Watching Cousin Skywalker disappear from view, he put the binoculars down and chewed his lip, feeling indecisive as he gazed at the distant ziggurat. He'd witnessed Cousin Skywalker's use of the Force to sway the stormtroopers to let him past, the vague hand gesture and stiffness of the responding trooper all too familiar, meaning that Skywalker was playing it quiet. Waiting for Skywalker to come out would be pointless; either the boy would come out a different entrance or his friends in the transport would be ready to pick him up.

He was in something of a bind now, however, as the Jedi Temple was one of the least accessible places on Imperial Center. The most appealing option, of course, was not to go in at all.

Gods, he didn't want to go in there.

He'd been inside only once before, shortly after the Battle of Yavin and at the beginning of his partnership with Uncle D when he'd been tasked with retrieving any information still intact regarding Obi-Wan Kenobi and one of the old Republic senators from Naboo. There hadn't been, of course, Uncle D had been quite thorough in his original assault on the temple and the subsequent plundering, but he'd fulfilled his duty nonetheless.

He wasn't sure exactly why it was so disturbing, he'd seen the aftermath of battles far more horrific than that, but the temple was...

Jix shook his head roughly and focused on the task at hand. The minefield of various recording devices and sensor equipment that ringed the temple must've already been disabled by the time Jix had made it to the observation point; he would've had to if stealth was the key. Though _why_ Skywalker chose to come here without giving any evident warning was a mystery, considering the whole kriffing galaxy would be calling him "Your Majesty" soon enough.

All of which meant that he, Wrenga Jixton, would have to enter the Jedi Temple to have that conversation. Unfortunately, he didn't have the benefit of the Force to sneak his way in. What he _did_ have, however, was a satchel full of high explosives. They were intended primarily for special types of recreational activity, but they'd do well enough for this.

 _Can't incapacitate the guards, can't slip past them, therefore they must be distracted._

Jix grinned; he _loved_ making distractions.

It was better this way, he supposed, after all, why play it safe and sneak in when one could play thermite and waltz in?

#

Luke began his inspection of the temple's interior at a careful, measured pace where he went from one room to another. Luke would pause at the threshold of a room, sometimes simply move on if there was nothing to see or he'd step inside if there was something he felt or saw that caught his attention. His ability to shield himself had grown considerably over the years, but the sheer depth of feeling that was engrained in the very stone beneath his feet was simply too much for his limited training and experience to handle. Though he couldn't close his mind off completely, he was competent enough to at least mute some of the worst of the sensations, but in every room, in every corridor, his mind was assailed by images and feelings of the past.

Despite the overwhelming pain and fear and despair he'd first felt, the temple wasn't without its own inner light. The day he'd begun walking the path of the Jedi, Ben had told him that the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Republic; it'd make sense that, no matter how horrific the reign of the Emperor and the purge of the Jedi had been, the light of the Jedi hadn't been fully extinguished.

Sometimes, it was a vision of the past, like in a courtyard where he'd seen a dark-skinned Kiffar attempting to demonstrate a lightsaber technique to a younger, blue-skinned Twi'lek wearing brown wrappings. Other times, it was just a feeling of contentment that he'd encounter walking into a particular room or corridor. Once, he'd even seen his old master, Yoda, surrounded by a gaggle of children performing the same lightsaber exercise Obi-Wan had first shown him on their way to Alderaan all those years ago.

But other times…other times he saw the bodies of the dead. Jedi, some dismembered or bearing the distinctive slash marks and stab wounds of a lightsaber and others whose bodies bore multiple scorch marks indicative of blaster wounds. There were also stormtroopers in his vision, many more stormtroopers than there had been Jedi, littering the floors of the temple. Though, given that the events that took place here had been decades ago and their older style of armor, it was a safe bet that they were actually the predecessors to the Imperial stormtrooper, the clones of the Grand Army of the Republic. The same clones that had faithfully followed the Jedi into battle throughout the Clone War.

Somehow, knowing they'd been clones and not the Imperial stormtroopers he was familiar with just made it that much worse, that much more of a betrayal.

 _How could this have happened?_

Luke shivered, feeling a wetness on his cheeks that he didn't bother to brush away. Whatever residual bitterness he'd felt toward Obi-Wan for the lie he'd perpetuated about his father had long since vanished. Just thinking about Anakin must've been agonizing to Ben, to know what had become of the man he'd trained, to know that he'd destroyed... _everything_.

He continued his journey, occasionally peeking at the smaller rooms that might've once served as part of a dormitory or apartments, while occasionally just standing at one of the many windows, staring out into the vast expanse of Imperial City. Eventually, he found a large stone archway that led to something that felt...odd.

He tentatively entered the massive chamber that'd drawn him in and opened his mind to seek the case. There were darker memories here, like everywhere else in the temple, but this particular part of the temple seemed...cleaner than the others, than any other spot in the temple he'd found. What was especially odd about this chamber was the palpable calmness that was a distinct contrast to its appearance.

It had been a place of beauty at one time, Luke needed no vision to come to that conclusion. Stone walkways were surrounded by dried riverbeds and the husks of burned out plants. Basins, likely pools of water large enough to swim in were spread about while small bridges connected one part of the chamber with another to give clearance to what might've been a waterfall. There were places that ran along those dried out riverbeds which had clearly created those waterfalls but had also flowed into wells and even fountains. He could almost visualize it, a place of _life,_ of green plants, flowing water, and by the look of it, dozens and dozens of waterfalls and fountains.

The inner Tatooinian in him wanted to rail at the spectacular waste of water, but he bit down on his knee-jerk reaction and instead stood quietly to appreciate what had once been and what had since been lost. A place of great beauty, a favorite meditative spot for many of the older Jedi, he imagined, a place soaked in the serenity of the light side. Bombarded as he'd been by the turbulent feelings roiling through the Force throughout so much of the temple, this place that was littered with ash, broken masonry, the remains of dead flora and the echoes of fallen Jedi still felt like a bastion of calm.

Reluctantly, he moved on.

#

Jix released the droids, observing the recently sliced droids zoom off as they obeyed the instructions he'd inserted into their core programming. Checking his chronometer, he smiled as he began making his way toward the eastern side of the Jedi Temple.

Carefully following the same path that Skywalker had walked upon, he waited until he came across a small alcove he could use to hide in. He checked his chronometer again and then his datapad which showed a feed featuring their locations.

There's a critical difference between a distraction and a crime or an attack…or something like that. His da had tried to explain it to him once, but all he remembered was the simplistic analysis of his younger self that explosions never failed to accomplish either. As an adult, his viewpoint was unchanged.

But he did know, that a proper distraction needed to be seen, needed to be heard, and needed to invite closer attention. Imperial troops were, if nothing else, delighted to inspect a disturbance for possible Rebel activity and, well, what he had in mind should more than suffice.

Glancing at the datapad and then at the skyscraper nearest to his position, he tapped in a brief set of commands. Unable to stop himself from grinning, he tapped the final command and executed the final command of the programming.

The first droid detonated in a massive fireball not even 200 meters off. Aside from temporarily deafening him, the detonation also had the effect of drawing the stormtroopers from their guard post around the temple entrance. The rest of the droids began to detonate in similar explosions one after another, some nearby, others farther away near the skyscraper where some of the sturdy transparisteel windows actually fractured apart.

Explosions were well and good, but there was still something missing, a final nuance that would seal the deal. Watching through his macrobinoculars, his grin grew even wider as lines of flame suddenly raced down the side of the tower, following the film of fuel the droids had sprayed until the fiery image of the Alliance starbird burned brightly in the haze of Imperial Center's sky.

 _Ah, I love it when a plan came together,_ he thought happily.

Emerging from his hiding spot, he began humming as he made his way down to the eastern entrance.

The cost of two blocks of thermite gel? 2,000 credits.

The cost of a dozen modified cam droids? 30,000 credits.

The estimated value of property damage? 185,000 credits.

Watching the full guard element of stormtroopers break protocol and leave the restricted point of entry exposed while they investigated? Priceless.

#

Luke's steps faltered as a new chorus of screams echoed in the Force, along with the more muted sounds of blaster fire, but forced himself to move past the wide corridor and through the massive arches into the room he'd been seeking for the last ten minutes.

The chamber, which he was fairly sure had once housed the Jedi Archives Yoda had told him about, had been ransacked. The shelves on each floor of the room had been bare or completely destroyed, leaving nothing of the thousands of years of collected history and knowledge that'd been accumulated. In its own way, it was more heartbreaking than anything else he'd seen, a reminder that what came in the future would be at his, and Leia's, control.

Would he locate Force-sensitives on his own, send them to Leia and hope everything worked out for the best? He couldn't imagine taking _some_ sort of proactive role, but if he trained his own apprentices, wouldn't they be seen as opposition to the Republic that Chief of State Mothma intended to construct? Such a scenario where both Imperial and Jedi Knights seemed eerily reminiscent of the Sith and the Jedi, from an outsider's perspective at least. Assigning both groups similar duties would place them in direct contact occasionally during their missions, and who was to say that their assignment would be identical?

If he couldn't train his own Jedi, a group that would surely be ostracized by the Republic and possibly the new, future Jedi Order, then he'd have to train them for a different purpose. Not shadowy assassins as the Emperor had trained, but a group who served a higher cause or purpose.

The Jedi, despite their close association with the Republic, hadn't overseen the day to day operations of the Senate and the Chancellorship. Mon Mothma had once remarked that, though they'd accept missions from the Republic, they attempted to remain apolitical whenever possible. It's what had made them such respected and renowned negotiators but what had also contributed to the _otherness_ that the galaxy ascribed to the Jedi _,_ something that Palpatine had later exploited to demonize the Jedi.

Palpatine.

It always came back to Palpatine.

How had the Jedi missed the all-encompassing darkness Luke had sensed emanating from the man on the Death Star?

The Clone War had been chaotic enough without having a Sith Lord in disguise gaming the system, and he had no doubt that the Jedi's prior position of neutrality and subsequent involvement in the Clone War _must_ have hampered their insight into the man. Unfortunately, Mothma had known little of the Jedi's thoughts and feelings regarding the political scene during the Clone Wars. Indeed, that group of senators who came together to discuss their growing concern of then Chancellor Palpatine, many of whom became the founders of the Rebellion, elected _not_ to tell the Jedi because the extent of the Order's loyalty toward Palpatine was unknown.

What if the Jedi _had_ been consulted? What if the Jedi had actively investigated him?

What ifs held no answers for him, however, and it was the present and to the future which he must look. But the topic of oversight, of a check against power began to needle him. For a Force user who'd claimed a throne, what _kind_ of check could there be? The plurality of the Republic Senate had certainly failed against Palpatine and Luke had no doubt that the collective assemblage of Moffs would fall apart if he truly unleashed his power without regard to his moral principles. So, who could provide that insurance? Who could keep him, and any possible Force-sensitive successors, from ruling out of fear, anger and aggression? from the dark side?

Yes, that was a train of thought that would require careful consideration in the _very_ near future.

Luke ran a finger along a dusty shelf and sighed. The destruction of so much knowledge and the viciousness with which it was enacted made his heart ache. Still, surely not _all_ of the knowledge had been destroyed; some of it, the more useful, less esoteric parts, must've been preserved by the Emperor. Perhaps his father would know.

He let out a heavy breath and moved on, leaving the wreckage of the Archive and the northwestern quarter of the temple behind. Heading back toward the main hall, he cautiously allowed the feelings ingrained in the Jedi Temple back into his mind.

Here, a Jedi bisected a clone trooper in half before being riddled with blaster bolts and reduced to a charred corpse.

There, a bald, dark-skinned man's purple lightsaber clashed with a blue blade wielded by an older Cerean man in a dizzying display of dueling finesse. There was no aggression involved, only the calm contentment evoked from friendly competition.

It was difficult to take it all in, it was unimaginably difficult, but he took it anyway because if not him, who would? Who else in the galaxy could see what he saw, could feel what he felt and be willing to do both?

Luke had just entered the second story of the hall when he heard the sound of a distant, thunderous boom and felt the stone floor beneath his feet tremble. Luke froze and opened his mind, forcing his way past the myriad of visions to seek out any sign of imminent danger.

Nothing.

Giving one last regretful look at the still largely unexplored interior of the Jedi Temple, he began running back to the small eastern entrance he'd unsealed to see what new disaster had just transpired.

#

After running at a full sprint for almost ten minutes, getting lost only once, thank the gods, he finally made it to the eastern side of the temple. The entrance was about five meters away, in a small alcove obscured by a large archway marked with dozens of scorch marks left by blaster bolts. He was just about to turn the corner when he sensed the new and unfamiliar presence.

Leaping into the air, he called his lightsaber to his hand and ignited the green blade with a _snap-hiss_. Twisting in midair, Luke landed on his feet with the point of his saber held against the throat of the unfamiliar man's throat.

The man didn't so much as look at it, instead, the grin he'd been wearing beforehand appeared to have grown even wider and was accompanied by eyes sparkling with...satisfaction? anticipation?

The man, bare chested but for the brown vest and the necklace dangling around his throat, spread his arms wide as if he were expecting a hug.

"Cousin!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Hope everyone liked the Kashyyyk scene and the end of another Grand Admiral. I'm well aware that my portrayal of the events isn't accurate but the characters involved and the sequence of events fit well enough to satisfy me. Thought it'd be good to get back in touch with Han and Chewie as well; don't worry, I haven't gotten them.

About Luke's speedy recovery time: Bacta, the Force, medical technology that's literally millennia ahead of ours, a few days is all you need in my world to heal an ouchie, so don't bitch. If it isn't immediately apparent, I took some liberties with the Jedi Temple. The issue of less importance and is more of a technical tweak was my description of the small entrance to the temple. Now, it's known that the temple was a zealously guarded area and there were multiple entrances in and out of the place, so I thought the nature and design of the trap would be something that adheres to Palpatine's cunning. The second was the overall feel of the temple that Luke experienced. In truth, I don't remember much about any description of the temple given by Luke after he eventually encountered it and I can see the place being a nexus of both the light side and the dark side. I thought it was plausible *shrug*

Star Wars fanfiction pet peeves: To some extent, Anakin/Darth Vader will always have a level of forgiveness in redemption stories when it comes to explaining the past. This isn't one of my greatest annoyances, but it bothers me when that level of forgiveness goes so far as to make everyone else look _bad_ and Anakin into a little, lost boy who never had a chance of making the right decision. Having Yoda, Obi-Wan, Padmè and everyone else _apologize_ and take the blame cheapens the whole saga. Redemption stories are great, I love them, but let's not forget that killing babies and murdering the innocent was the closest Anakin/Vader ever came to having a hobby for a good 20 years.

Also, every story where the phrase, "No one has ever come back from the dark side before!" or "There has never been a child fathered by a Jedi before!" was uttered. Puh-leeze.

Not taking the fully fleshed out legends canon into consideration, the former has a measure of credence given that the dark side never seems to be fully explored without the use of metaphors and certain points of view. But, without even looking back at the rest of the legends canon, Obi-Wan said the Jedi had been the guardians of peace for over 1000 generations or, in layman's terms, 20,000 years. You're telling me that in 20,000 years no Jedi has ever crossed into the dark side before going "oops, nvm"? or that no Jedi has ever fathered or bore offspring? Ha!

Please correct me if I'm wrong, but as I understand it, Legends canon indicates that, while it certainly wasn't common for Jedi to have children, it wasn't exactly incomprehensible until much later. (More specifically, it wasn't an unimaginable offense until sometime after the end of the last Sith War in ~1000 BBY when the Jedi Order began to grow increasingly restrictive after having splintered apart during the war.) Even putting that aside, Corellian Jedi, who were considered almost a sub-sect of the Order, were given either implicit or explicit permission to raise their own families and train their offspring. So, none of that shit, please.

Now, here's another thing that gets me and this ties in with my earlier comment about redemption stories. This issue is a bit of a gray area because the type of stories I'll be talking about are often well-written, have interesting premises and are genuinely good pieces of fiction. It's just a little aspect of them that, if mishandled, make me want to vomit all Exorcist-like. I'm talking about stories that feature an adult, non-Darksider Luke who is placed in close proximity with his father, who is either full blown Sith or is actively struggling with aforementioned Sithiness. Usually, this will be a result of Luke having been captured or they reunite post-Bespin in pre/mid/post redemption events, but as I said, these stories can be amazing and many of them rank at the top of my favorites list.

Case in point: "Meet the Skywalkers" by frodogenic — Fucking phenomenal fic that combines hilarity, an impressive grasp Star Wars knowledge and an amusing, original premise. Great story that is only marginally better than his other story, "Lord Vader's Limpet." Also, "Welcome to the Club" by Malicean would qualify here as another great work.

But not all stories feature a Luke who can act mature when confronted by his newly discovered father. These stories are the ones where Luke's emotional maturity devolves to that of a child's and becomes almost pathetically needy in his desire to learn about his daddy. Firstly, George Lucas got it right. Vader should not, ever, _ever,_ be called "Dad." Father really is the only paternal reference that can be applied to Vader without it being entirely too comical. I often see these stories that feature a Luke whose naiveté, acceptance of Vader and childish enthusiasm are so overblown that it becomes somewhat nauseating to read during their all too frequent bonding moments. The negative aspects of his father, like the propensity to murder everyone who disappoints him, sponsoring chemical/biological weapons, happily authorizing genocide and being a dark-side-using-dick are entirely overlooked because, hey, it's dad. /rant


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**— The Will of the Empire —**

 **###**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Welcome back, dear readers. I apologize for taking so long on this chapter; I had most of it written out in the draft before I even released the last chapter but decided to go through it and add more material. This was mostly to flesh out a few subplots and set up for the next big sequences. Unfortunately, this will be the last chapter I publish before I finish Thor's Slayers. This will be the last intermission and I will finish that fucking monstrosity so I can come back to WotE where I belong.

Thor's Slayers could take as long as 3-4 weeks to finish, but I won't be releasing a new WotE chapter immediately after I finish. Instead, because I'll have exhausted my supply of prepared WotE chapter rough drafts upon publishing this chapter, I intend to spend some time writing up new material and planning out future chapters. So, consider yourselves warned, it's possible that I might not publish another chapter for up to two months, though if things go well I'm hoping that it'll be more like the end of September or middle of October. It just depends on how things go, but chapter 14 is definitely starting to shape up as a monster of a chapter.

Friendly warning: I have a truly massive author notes section at the end of the chapter. I'll also be getting a little dirty in there, so have fun with that.

Once again, thanks for all the feedback and I hope you enjoy the new chapter while the winds of Hurricane Harvey are shaking my house!

* * *

 **###**

 _"I think I'll continue hating your guts for a while, just as a matter of form."_  
 _― Lando Calrissian_

 **#**

 **Six weeks after BoE**  
 **The Jedi Temple, Imperial City**

"Cousin!"

Luke gaped at the exuberant man, hoping fervently that fate wouldn't add someone like this "cousin" to his already colossal pile of burdens and complicated family drama that he had to contend with. Quickly wiping the disbelief from his face, he kept the emerald blade of his lightsaber level with the other man's throat. Unsure of how to proceed with this sudden intrusion, Luke decided to remain silent and raised both eyebrows in a clear demand for an expectation.

The man's grin never faltered, the blade apparently as threatening to him as one those pittins Leia had once reminisced about from her youth. In fact, Luke would say that the man was doing his absolute best to emulate one of the furry, harmless, lovable creatures. Unfortunately for the stranger, he was neither cute nor adorable as the late "All-Terrain Attack Vehicle" Leia had described and was therefore classified as extremely suspicious.

Luke's eyes narrowed, mouth firming into a thin line as his grasp on the lightsaber tightened.

"Well, despite the chilly welcome, it's good to see you again! I suppose Uncle D never told you about me, but I'm not surprised," the man admitted smugly, finally breaking the silence, "he wouldn't want you to get jealous."

Luke wasn't sure where to begin with the second part of the other man's statement and therefore concentrated on the first instead. "We've met? Uncle...D?"

"Yep, saved both your and Dash Rendar's lives on Tatooine when that swoop gang was on your tail about two months ago. As for Uncle D...well, you know him. The man in the black mask? The crimson lightsaber swinging menace? The scourge of all incompetent Imperial underlings? The walking advertisement for bacta treatments and life support systems? The black-caped, black-hearted monster who sprang from the womb of Palpatine's dark machinations?"

Luke made an involuntary disgusted sound, forcing the man to pause and offer an apologetic glance.

"Ah, I suppose I let that one go a little too far," the man muttered, then brightened, "but I could go on!"

"No, thanks," Luke replied blandly, endeavoring not to vomit. Then his mind actually processed what the man had said and felt as though his world had turned upside down at the realization. "Uncle D...Darth Vader?"

"Oh, looks like you catch on quick, that'll help assuage my pride for when I have to bow at your feet, or when I'm _supposed_ to bow at any rate. Your daddy, yes, I was a valued agent of his who serves even now after his death. Wrenga Jixton, call me Jix."

Despite the lightsaber still pointed at his throat, the man extended an expectant, brawny hand.

Still looking at Jix warily, he combed through his memories of the swoop chase that occurred right before he raced to rescue his sister from Prince Xizor. He remembered the odd event at the very end, something he'd entirely forgotten about, a loud shout in the same Corellian accent as Jix's that'd saved his life from a sharpshooter. Frowning, and still wary, he kept the lightsaber in hand even after thumbing it off, taking the man's proffered hand and shaking it tentatively. "I suppose you already know who I am, then. Call me, Luke."

Jix grinned. "You and I, we have work to do and your father paid me an obscene amount of credits to help you do it. Now, let's blow this crypt before those stormtroopers catch onto my cunning ruse."

"The explosions?"

The man smiled beatifically, "Attach a little thermite gel to a dozen cam droids and let 'em loose. Makes one helluva bang. Lighting a fire on a skyscraper in the shape of the Rebellion's starbird, well that was just vweilu nuts in the ryshcate. Now, come on, there's something Vader wanted me to show you as soon as possible."

#

 **Two hours later  
Darth Vader's Fortress Retreat, Imperial City**

"One of the Noghri," Jix observed flatly, "I'm flattered to know that you consider me that dangerous."

Luke glanced aside at Meewalh before shrugging at the big man. "We all have our minders, Jix and unlike a troop of stormtroopers who've sworn loyalty to me, even the clones whose dedication has proved to be invaluable, I find Meewalh's company to be quite soothing."

Jix eyed the Noghri bodyguard, gaze bouncing from weapon to weapon to claw to bared fang. "Yes. Soothing. Obviously. How could she not be?"

The Noghri let out a soft hiss of amusement. At least, Luke thought it was amusement, it might've been the equivalent of a death threat for all he knew; distinguishing the subtleties of a 'hiss' was no easy feat for a human and Jix's sour expression proved that he was no exception.

Luke smiled, at Jix and at the Noghri at his flank. "Meewalh is quiet and utterly focused in both body and mind; meditating in her presence is effortless."

"Huh."

"Yours, on the other hand, would be a challenge, I imagine," Luke acknowledged wryly. "I've yet to meet a Corellian whose presence was quiet and didn't find it insulting to have their presence described as calming."

"No real Corellian would," Jix huffed.

Luke shook his head in amusement before sobering and returning to his study of the interior of the fortress's dimly lit main hall. "This was truly my father's retreat?"

"What, the gloomy, dark and _creepy_ vibe didn't give it away? Yes, and it was only one of many," Jix replied, mood finally sobering. "Your father…he was easy to perceive as a simple man when one observed his interactions with others. It was only in his privacy, in places like this fortress, that his complexities could ever be really seen. This place…well, not _here_ , but in other places of isolation is where I observed not only his complexities but a piece of his past that few were permitted to see. Lord Vader was extremely specific about what he wanted you to see, what he wanted you to have from his various holdings, but he wished me to show you this before anything else, I think…I think it was a way for him to offer some sort of consolation, whether you joined him or not."

Luke nodded mutely as he took in the obsidian stonework, walls bare but for the sparse windows providing a view over the Great Western Sea. Shivering slightly from the cold that suddenly seemed pervasive within the castle, Luke followed Jix's lead, still curious but disconcerted by the stifling darkness that stained this place. They descended a wide staircase that must've led them at least 20 meters downward before it leveled out in front of a set of thick blast doors.

"STATE YOUR BUSINESS."

A set of blast doors that spoke menacingly, apparently.

"He didn't say anything about this," Jix growled in annoyance. "Listen, _door_ , I don't have—"

"THIS SYSTEM DOES NOT RECOGNIZE YOU AS AN AUTHORIZED USER."

Jix jumped back as a recessed blaster suddenly sprang from the upper portion of the door and fixated on him.

Luke cleared his throat. "What about me? Luke Skywalker?"

There was a moment of silence before a small tray extended outward.

"SUBMIT BIOMETRIC DATA SAMPLE."

Glancing at the blaster still trained on Jix, he advanced and pressed his flesh hand against the outlined image. He immediately felt several pinpricks indicating drawn blood samples before the tray returned to the door.

After 10 seconds of waiting, the blaster returned to its cradle and the doors began slowly sliding apart with a creak of protesting durasteel.

"ACCESS GRANTED."

After blowing a raspberry at the door and giving it a kick, Wrenga Jixton led Luke inside, admitting, "I don't know if he ever actually lived here, but when he did come here, I'm willing to wager that he'd make time just to take a look at this."

Luke was about to ask 'at what?' when Jix tapped something invisible against the black stone causing bright light to spill into cavern. _No_ , _not a cavern_ , he realized, gazing upward as the ceiling retracted to reveal a slowly setting Coruscant Prime and the darker-hued, multicolored sky it left in its wake.

Glancing back down, the contents of the cavern finally registered and his mouth opened in awe. There really was no other word for it, no other word could do justice to the sight before him. Jix must've been right, because whether he'd turned to the dark side or not, what lay before him was something he'd treasure. Stang, if his father had shown him a picture of this when he'd made his pitch on Bespin, things might've gone a little smoother for the both of them.

Starfighters, transports, freighters, there must've been over a dozen spaceworthy craft on the gargantuan landing pad, all in pristine condition, all elegant in their own way. The only things that marked them as Darth Vader's rather than some eccentric starship collector were their uniform black color and modifications that he could see without even having to perform a close inspection. But not even the off-putting color detracted from their beauty, not to him at least.

"The contents of this fortress are all yours, of course," Jix murmured. "There are other items around that might interest you, but it was these he specifically wanted you to have."

Luke nodded, brushing a hand against the edge of a starfighter of some kind. Two black lateral wings connected to a cylindrical cockpit. The two wings were situated so that the pilot would have a view through the gap in the wings, where two laser cannons were mounted. "What kind of fighter is this?"

"Kuati designed. One of the better snubfighters from the Clone War, one of the old Eta-2 _Actis_ fighters, and if I know Uncle D, heavily modified like all the others."

Luke nodded, looking further ahead at a small transport that seemed to tower above him. Walking closer, it became clearer that it wasn't just a transport, but more of a luxury yacht instead. It was _gorgeous;_ its lines and curves forming a design that was enhanced by the shiny black metallic surface. Sitting on a trio of landing struts, two powerful engines were mounted adjacent and slightly to the rear of a bulbous cockpit whose front smoothed out into a long needlelike nose. Graceful and sleek, the ship was all class.

"They don't make 'em like this anymore," Jix sighed, eyes as fixated on the ship as Luke's were. "Nubian ship, usually a transport or a yacht. This one has a few modifications, improved power core, hyperdrive rating, some ion charges and a concealed ventral double-laser cannon. Vader spent a lot of time on this one; I was never sure if he loved it or hated it."

Luke turned around at that. "Hated it?"

"I _did_ say that he wasn't as simple as people like to think. He never said anything, but the time I was here he spent a long time glaring at it. 'course, he might've been sleeping on his feet for all I know, but he didn't seem to like it despite how much time he must've spent on it."

"Jix…why didn't you just take this stuff yourself?"

"I'm absolutely shocked and appalled that you'd think me capable of such a thing, of such a _betrayal_ ," Jix huffed, crossing his arms in outrage. At Luke's unimpressed look, he shrugged. "What was I going to do flying around with one of _these_? I live my life by avoiding attention and these," Jix waved his hand around at the ships, "would make my life harder. Selling them would be just as problematic considering that some of these are vintage…or booby-trapped."

"Okay…" Luke said slowly, "and what of my father's other things?"

"Your father paid me more than enough, I didn't need anymore."

Luke chuckled. "You forget that I'm my father's son, Wrenga Jixton, but I don't think being Force-sensitive had anything to do with my knowing that was one karking big lie."

Jix made a face. "So I stole a few things while I was inspecting his properties, so what? Didn't think you'd care, not with you being an _extremely_ wealthy man and all."

"Jix…can you at least make sure that you tell me _what_ you intend to make disappear before you do it. I assure you, there are only a few things that I'm attached to. Do not take anything that has any relevance to my father's past, nothing that has anything to do with the Jedi, the Force and especially the Sith, having that loose in the galaxy is something neither of us wants. And don't you dare touch any of his ships. Also, I want a 60/40 cut, that's _my_ inheritance I'm letting you steal."

"You drive a hard bargain, young Jedi, but I agree. I'd no idea you were so mercenary."

Luke smiled wryly. "Time spent in the company of less than reputable men has had an effect on me."

The two shook hands before resuming their appreciation of the various spacecraft.

"You said that you performed tasks for my father and that he expects you to do the same for me?" Luke asked.

"That's about the size of it. In two years an account with my name on it will become accessible and I can only obtain it with your being there. A few million credits are waiting there for me and I need you alive in order to collect. Of course, if someone manages to dust you before then, I still have the initial two million he gave me, but easy money holds its own allure just as a challenge does," Jix mused.

Luke rolled his eyes. "Good. But if you want those credits, I'm going to make you work for it. I have three tasks for you to begin with. Firstly, I need you to send an encrypted message from an _unmonitored_ terminal; I'll have the message and destination coordinates in a few hours. I'd also like your help in planning a coronation—"

Jix shrugged and spoke without thinking, "Sure, no pr—"

The man abruptly paused, narrowed his eyes, closed his mouth, blinked and opened his mouth again to release a stream of invective. Once he'd run out of breath, he growled out, "Yeah, I'll take care of the message, but what the _kriff_ are you talking about me planning a _coronation_. What in all the seven Corellian hells could you possibly be thinking? I'm not some sort of event planner! Look, Cousin, I don't think I'm the right kind of guy—"

"—and there's a whole lot of trouble I'd like you to stir up," Luke finished calmly. "And I'm not asking you to plan the whole thing, of course, I just need an opinion or two that doesn't come from someone in a stiff, green Imperial uniform or has a chip on their very non-Imperial shoulder."

There was a strained silence as Jix weighed the younger man's resolute expression.

"…deal, and the third task?"

"I imagine a man like you accumulates contacts about as easily as a Givin spins out mathematical equations; I need you to contact them and put them to use."

Wrenga Jixton's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Doing what?"

"I have a problem with the Moffs and it's not something I can solve from here. I need information Jix, who might be sympathetic to my cause, to the Rebellion, who is a staunch centrist and supporter of Palpatine, who actively supports the slave trade, encourages abuse against nonhumans. More importantly, I need to know what Palpatine knew about the Grand Moffs and his most favored Moffs; a wrinkled turd like him wouldn't let someone into his favor without having multiple ways of controlling them."

Jix's smile turned positively wicked. "I think I can handle that for you. Learning the dirty secrets of the Imperial's high and mighty? Won't take much pay to encourage my sources to take that up if you provide enough logistical support… Sith! As long as you promise to spring them from the detention centers if they get caught, they might volunteer just for the sheer pleasure of it!"

* * *

 **The next day**

"Look, Luke, you can't just hop on a stage and say, 'I'm your new Emperor, bow before me!' That's the worst thing you can possibly do," Lando stated definitively, ignoring the glares he received as he leaned back in his chair to set his feet on the black marble tabletop. "It's just like anything else you're about to assume control of. A ship, a business, a city, whatever. You don't just pop in and throw out the old management without so much as a 'How do you do?'"

Luke raised a single eyebrow as he met Lando's condescending expression. "Lando, throwing out the old management is _literally_ how my father put me in this position in the first place."

Admiral Piett, who'd been taking a sip of water, spat it out and erupted into a violent coughing fit.

The dark-skinned Socorran rolled his eyes as he tossed a napkin to the Imperial officer. "Maybe, but my point still stands. Vader and his various accomplices—" Lando paused to give Firmus Piett a _look_ , "—did an impressive job getting you here, to this point. But now you need to get from _here_ to that throne and you need to figure out how to _remain_ there."

"I know, I know, the Moffs. I need them on my side, I know." Luke rubbed his temples and blew out a breath.

"Not just them, but the people that have their ears, that influence them," Piett interjected. "The Moffs operate largely on favoritism and bribery. Find the investors and supporters of each Moff and coax, succor or threaten them to gain their support and the Moffs are far more likely to fall in line."

Luke began to smile, a slow smile that had an edge which made the other men blink in surprise. "Yes, I absolutely agree, Admiral. As a matter of fact, that's been something on my mind since I recovered and, as of yesterday, have a man working on fishing out some of the power dynamics for every Moff in every critical system from the Core worlds to the Expansion Region."

His audience blinked.

"You do?" Lando asked.

Piett's question followed immediately on the heels of Lando's. "Who did you trust for a task like this?"

"I do," Luke confirmed with a wry smile. "The fact of the matter is that I can plan, plan, and plan some more but the moment that I, Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight and Commander of the Rebel Alliance, am proclaimed Emperor, this Empire will fall apart. The best we can do is salvage what we can and plan a response for what evades our grasp. So that contact of mine, a man whose services were leased to me by my father, is investigating the Moffs."

"Well, that's a good start, Luke, but we still—" Lando began.

"—and," Luke continued, waving Lando off, "when that intelligence broker gets here. Karrde, yes? When he gets here, I'm hoping they'll agree to supplement my agent's current task and that they might extend their reach to the head officers of major banking institutions, exchanges and trusts whose investments are invaluable to the Imperial economy. If the Empire is to endure, it cannot be done on a foundation of ideals and dreams. Credits, on the other hand, should do nicely. Those institutions I spoke of, they will provide the capital we need to run this Empire while withholding it from any incalcitrant Moffs, or they will lose those assets."

"So, to summarize…" Lando stopped himself, gaping at Luke. "You're going to _blackmail_ the Moffs? How do you intend on convincing the banks to assist you?"

"Even Emperor Palpatine hesitated to force major financial institutions into submission," Piett cautioned, nodding his agreement. "That is something he would do over time, rarely so brazenly as this…I do not believe this is a wise course of action, Commander."

"Force them?" Luke chuckled. "I'll wager you a thousand credits that by the second hour of negotiations that they'll be _begging_ to help."

* * *

 **Forty-four days after BOE  
Aboard the MC80 Star Cruiser _Independence_**  
 **Arbra orbit, Bon'nyuw-Luq sector**

"Your Highness! We've received a transmission from Coruscant!"

Leia jerked in surprise, eyes snapping open at the sudden intrusion of C-3PO's loud, excited voice. The glass vase, which she'd _finally_ managed to levitate for a whole three seconds, shattered as it struck the hard surface of the deck. She hurriedly got to her feet, carefully brushing off the flakes of glass that had settled on her tan uniform jacket and light-green pants in the wake of the vase's destruction.

 _"Control!"_ Yoda berated her _. "You must learn control!"_

The annoyed look she flashed him was met with a disapproving scowl so potent that it felt like a physical slap upside her head. The diminutive Jedi Master must've spent the majority of his life devoting himself to perfecting that scowl, but it still wasn't enough to deter Leia. Perhaps, at one time in her life, it might've soundly put her in her place, but his sour expression had nothing on the disdainful sniffs that her trio of aunts had hounded her with in her youth. Therefore, Leia, with all the dignity expected of her royal bearing, stuck her tongue out at the little troll and 'loudly' imagined her punting his ethereal body out of her quarters like a nuna.

Yoda huffed, " _A troll, I am not and more troublesome than your brother, you most certainly are._ "

Leia glowered at the Force spirit before she gave Threepio a saccharine smile that was utterly lost on the droid, "Threepio, I'm _delighted_ that you're here. Now, what's the message?"

"General Rieekan was most adamant that he be allowed to deliver the report in person," Threepio reported. After a short pause, the protocol droid added, "He had the oddest reaction."

Leia's eyes widened, then narrowed as her face took on an annoyed, anxious, and frustrated look as she thought of Han and Luke. "Where is Carlist? And what has my brother done now?"

"I'm afraid I don't know about Master Luke, Your Highness, but General Rieekan has appropriated the use of the captain's stateroom."

"Thanks, Threepio, stay here and keep the dwarf company."

As she left in a green and tan blur of movement, C-3PO glanced around the empty room in confusion. "Humans are most peculiar," the protocol droid complained and began following his mistress to receive clarification of her most recent request.

Yoda gave a weary sigh as he began sinking back into the comforting embrace of the Force. As a rule, the Skywalkers were nothing if not stubborn and headstrong. Even dead, they still managed to make him feel tired.

#

"Princess, how are you?"

Leia smiled fondly at the older Alderaanian as she took one of the plush chairs opposite his own. Between them was a small, circular table littered with datapads, loose durasheets, the discarded wrapping of a ration bar and cup filled with an unidentifiable substance that smelled entirely unappetizing. The man looked stressed but determined, business as usual.

Her smile dimmed as she sighed, "I miss Han, but we should be hearing from him soon if things go well."

"Attichitcuk is reported to be an influential individual of his people. Chewbacca and Han believe it will be easy to convince the Wookiees of our intentions," the general murmured. "But he isn't why you're here."

"We received a message from Coruscant," Leia agreed.

"From R2-D2," Carlist Rieekan affirmed and waved a datacard laying on the table, "It makes for an interesting read."

Leia's hand paused as it reached for the card, her lips pursing. "Artoo sent the message?" After a short pause, she let out a long-suffering sigh. "Luke's injured again, isn't he?" she asked flatly. "How!? He _just_ got there?"

There was a glint in Carlist's eyes that she _really_ didn't like.

"As I said, it was an interesting read. Apparently, Lieutenant Janson accosted R2-D2 at some point and made it clear that Artoo needed to emphasize certain facts in his report."

Leia let her face fall into the palm of her hand.

"All levity aside, Your Highness, Commander Skywalker was severely injured. He might bear some scars as a result but has likely already recovered given the quality of medical care in the palace," Rieekan said, voice sobering. "But he _will_ fully recover."

Leia just nodded. "Go on."

Carlist smiled.

"Artoo's Janson-influenced report begins by specifically stating that Commander Skywalker fainted _after_ they pulled the vibroblade out."

Leia groaned.

"And that he had 23 kilos on the young woman who beat the snot out of him. And yes, that was verbatim."

"Force, what was he thinking?" Leia muttered.

"Janson?" Rieekan frowned.

"Janson _doesn't_ think, Carlist, I mean Luke."

"Princess…one of Commander Skywalker's injuries was a lightsaber slash to his back," Carlist replied quietly. "The message indicates that Skywalker encountered one of the Emperor's agents, an assassin."

Leia's breath went out of her in a rush. "Gods, only _he_ could earn himself a stay in a bacta tank this quickly. The assassin is dead, then?"

General Rieekan visibly cringed. "Ah, Commander Skywalker spared her life. Apparently, he intends to 'save her'. I gathered that it was a reference to the Force somehow."

Leia just shook her head. "Well, if anyone can save someone lost to the dark side, it'd certainly be him, the bloody idiot."

Rieekan nodded sympathetically and fell quiet as she began reading the rest of the report.

* * *

 **Forty-four days after BoE  
Aboard the _Imperial I_ -class Star Destroyer _Emperor's Disciple  
_ The Outer Rim**

 _What was the point of it all?_

This was the prevailing thought running through Grand Admiral Ishin-Il-Raz's mind even as he maneuvered the attractive junior officer toward the entrance of his quarters. Perhaps using her body might provide relief to his own, but that was no salve for the gaping wound in his heart and soul. The Empire could not stand for much longer, not without the Emperor who had shepherded it into being in the first place. Everything he'd fought for, everything he'd helped build...

After pushing the brunette into his quarters, he slapped his hand against the keypad, hearing the 'swish' of the hatch sealing shut behind him.

What was left for him to do? Execute attacks against planets who'd allied with the Rebels? Raid Imperial worlds to take the resources needed to take the reins of the Empire?

He was the Grand Admiral of an Empire whose beating heart had been ripped asunder with the Emperor's death and the destruction of the second Death Star.

The brunette turned to face him, a mischievous smile on her face. He wanted to slap that look off her face, wanted to make her suffer for having the temerity to feel pleasure when the Empire was rotting around them.

Il-Raz wrapped a hand around her throat and slammed her against the wall adjacent to the hatch. His other hand ran along the curve of her hip, upwards until he felt the swell of her breast. No, he did not intend to make this pleasant for her at all, not when she was still able to smile after everything that he'd lost.

There was a painful bite of pressure in his chest that made him gasp in pain as if he'd been punched in the gut only _so_ much worse. Ishin-Il-Raz looked down to see the point of a knife sticking out of the front of his chest. He looked back up as the woman suddenly... _changed_.

A grey-skinned hand, which had only just been a flawless, alabaster color a moment before, slapped his suddenly limp fist from her throat. He looked up, unable to comprehend why the _being_ in front of him, which had been an extremely attractive human woman, was suddenly...not, neither attractive nor human.

"Took you long enough," the nonhuman female replied, tone laced with annoyance as she glanced past Il-Raz.

Those facial features... Il-Raz recognized her now for what she was and understood how someone as attractive as she'd appeared had gone unnoticed on his ship for so long. "C-C-Clawdite b-bitch," he hissed.

A large hand clamped over his mouth just as the blade embedded within him twisted and jerked upwards into his heart.

"Yeah, well, I was still working on disabling his quarter's internal security system. Didn't think he'd be so eager to take you up on the offer for a romp in his quarters. The way I hear it, the fool has been moping around for weeks," a masculine voice replied from behind.

Il-Raz's world began to dim as his lifeblood began to seep from his body into his tunic and the deck below. He barely felt the knife withdraw from his body and felt the impact of his body colliding with the hard floor of the deck as he lost the strength to stand even less. He fought to keep his eyes open, to track the Clawdite who'd infiltrated his ship and the yellow-eyed, tattooed man who'd managed to steal away into his quarters.

"I'll deal with the body," the man declared, "strip him quickly, you might as well get his clothes and make it easier for yourself. We got a full week of hyperspace travel until we reach Imperial Center and going grey on the bridge would be a quick way to become dead."

"Yeah, yeah, I know my part, Gauer. Just make sure I get that audience with whatever prig is about to declare themselves Emperor," the Clawdite replied tartly.

Il-Raz gave one last gasp, his body seeming to shudder as life finally left his body.

#

Gauer glanced at the now dead Grand Admiral and blew out a breath. "Can't say the galaxy is going to miss that fool."

"There's a lot of fools disappearing who aren't going to be missed," the assassin huffed amusedly.

"Ain't that the truth? Alright, when we hit Imperial Center, I'll send a wave to confirm the bounty and we split 70/30 when we get paid."

"As we agreed, so long as..."

"Yes, yes," the yellow-eyed man replied, shooting her an irritated glare. "I'll get you your meeting where you can make a case for the grey rats on Zolan. Force, what is this galaxy coming to when assassins would rather be do-gooders than get paid?"

The Clawdite huffed out a breath, "You're just upset because none of the Grand Moffs who valued your worthless carcass are still alive. Only now, with Palpatine dead, do you have any value and purpose."

Gauer's mouth formed into a thin line. "Go change. And while you're taking the time to do yourself up, figure out a way to clear out the area around the airlock on Deck 15, section 124. I have a Grand Admiral to flush out into space and I'd just as soon not be witnessed doing so."

* * *

 **Forty-five days after BoE  
The Imperial Palace, Imperial Center**

Mitth'raw'nuruodo strode into the small sitting room Luke Skywalker had requested for the use of their planning session. Maarek Stele stalked at his heels, a silent shadow whose presence at this place he valued for a multitude of reasons. Offering Skywalker a shallow bow of his head, he greeted the other man. "Commander Skywalker, you seem to have recovered well."

Skywalker, who'd been gazing through a transparisteel window into the distance, turned and offered a smile. It seemed a genuine smile. Wary, perhaps, but genuine all the same.

 _Such openness_ , Thrawn half-marveled, half-derided to himself _, is likely to attract danger from those seeking to exploit him. He's shown some ability to mask his emotions before, but it doesn't seem to be his nature to be deceptive._ The Chiss inwardly sighed. _Lord Vader, if there were ever a moment to gain a semblance of sentimentality, it should not have been the one where you named this child to be the next Emperor._

Stepping aside, Thrawn waved a hand at his companion. "Commander, might I introduce—"

"Maarek Stele," Skywalker finished, his voice taking on an unreadable tone. He cocked his head as though he were listening to some unheard voice before his smile began to fade and he took a slow step forward. " _Another_ Hand of the Emperor. Tell me, Maarek Stele, do you also intend to seek satisfaction for the death of your old master?"

Thrawn went motionless, though he glanced aside at his black-haired companion. The Kuani man went ramrod straight, hands clenching into fists as he and Skywalker stared at one another.

Skywalker, to his credit, had donned the mask that leaders wore to mask their thoughts and continued to study Stele through narrowed eyes. Maarek remained still, clearly resentful of the inspection but willing to remain passive during whatever scan Skywalker was employing through the use of the Force. Eventually, Skywalker nodded once and took a step back toward the window, evidently satisfied by whatever he'd seen in the taller man.

"You give me hope, Maarek Stele," the young Jedi said quietly. "You've touched darkness, seen the center of evil's domain and yet you've remained a man of scruples. People like you are the ones who make me believe that the Empire is worth saving."

Maarek stood stiff, so stiff that were he to bend he might shatter altogether. "Whatever knowledge you've obtained about me, I would be extremely dubious of its origin. Emperor Palpatine was not one to share so freely."

"No, I imagine he wasn't," Skywalker conceded, before wincing and rubbing his temples. "My father, on the other hand, won't _stop_ sharing."

Thrawn didn't react, but it was difficult even for him to maintain his customary stoicism at such a bizarre remark. Maarek, on the other hand, looked as though he were deciding whether to laugh at Skywalker or flee for his life.

"Commander?" It was about as diplomatic as Thrawn could manage without asking outright: 'just what kind of painkillers have they been feeding you here?'

Luke smiled briefly, turning to him for the first time since their initial greeting. "The only thing I knew of Maarek Stele before he walked into this room was his name and role in the Empire. Since my encounter with Mara Jade, however, my father has taken a more…proactive role in educating me about the many dangers posed by the Emperor's followers. Given the position he held, the knowledge he shares is about as secure and unquestionable as information can possibly be."

"Lord Vader…" Maarek trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as he apparently attempted to reconcile Skywalker's words and the knowledge of Vader's death.

Skywalker ignored Stele's confusion, staring Thrawn directly in the eyes. "My father recommended that I be honest with you, Grand Admiral, that to be anything else would do you a disservice and, in the end, be extremely unwise."

Thrawn raised a single eyebrow, looking to Maarek for insight. The Hand shook his head, still obviously bewildered my Skywalker's ramblings.

"During the Battle of Endor, I turned myself in to the Empire," Skywalker continued quietly, "because I wanted to keep my friends safe, because I wanted to save my father from the dark side. And so, I allowed myself to be taken by my father to the Emperor. However, I refused to turn to the dark side, I refused to kill my father and take his place at the Emperor's side when I had the opportunity."

Skywalker took a deep breath, seeming to shudder as he stared out the window. "The Emperor was not one to condone disobedience, as I'm sure the both of you know quite well. As punishment for my stubbornness, he decided to kill me for that refusal. It was then that my father killed the Emperor to save me, it was then that he cast off the shroud of the dark side and turned back to the light. And it was as Anakin Skywalker that he became one with the Force."

Though Maarek let out a harsh breath of surprise, Thrawn remained stoic as he kept his red-eyed gaze locked onto the boy even as his mind raced to grapple with the boy's claims.

"He, and several other Jedi have the power to…manifest themselves as spirits after their physical bodies expire. They have served as mentors, guides…" Skywalker trailed off with a shrug. "I needed you to know where I came from so that you can better understand where I'm going. The Force guides us all, even those unable to hear its whispers; everyone has a role to play…but the two of you more so than most others."

Thrawn exchanged another look with Maarek before both men gave Skywalker their attention.

"According to my father," Skywalker said slowly, eyes fixed upon Thrawn, "you are the greatest strategist he's ever encountered, bar none. No doubt you're well aware of how crucial your talents might be for the stabilization and consolidation of the Empire. But, as much as I need you, you also need me."

Thrawn raised a single blue-black eyebrow and tilted his head in question. "Is that so, Commander?"

Luke Skywalker nodded. " _I_ am the only one who will ever take your warning about the many threats in the Unknown Regions seriously. _I_ am also your greatest hope of drawing the war with the Alliance to a relatively expedient end."

"I don't believe in your Alliance, Commander Skywalker; its beloved ideals of diversity and democracy lend themselves neither to war nor to the governing of a galaxy mired in chaos. _That_ was a particularly harsh lesson learned by the Republic when the Clone War began," Thrawn retorted.

Skywalker made a face. "I don't disagree, Grand Admiral, but having to reconquer the galaxy to prove your point wouldn't exactly be an easy task and I don't believe you have the resources needed to do it."

"You said that the ' _two_ of _you'_ ," Maarek repeated in the ensuing silence, "and just what exactly is _my_ role in this grand plan of yours."

The young Jedi turned back to the Hand of the former Emperor. "You'll be there to kill me—"

"Give me a blaster and I'll have it done in a microsecond," Maarek deadpanned.

Skywalker rolled his eyes before he mustered past the interruption. "There will be a new Jedi Order, but it won't be mine to build, it won't be one that comes from the Empire," Skywalker started, speaking more softly now. "But I _do_ intend to teach, to pass on the knowledge that I've learned to students of my own. I don't intend for them to _compete_ with the Jedi, doing so would be foolish, counterproductive and quite frankly, dangerous for the galaxy. Nevertheless, I will not let this galaxy fall under the sway of the dark side again, I will not allow a Sith Empire to return to power. I will _not!"_

Staring at Maarek, the Jedi's eyes flared with determination as he gestured to the window he'd been standing by. Thrawn and Maarek both stepped forward to gaze out into the cityscape, where the remains of the old Jedi Temple could be seen in the distance. "That is a monument of the price extolled by the rise of the Sith, an obelisk marking the failures of the Jedi and the Republic and their inability to see their way out of the darkness. I will have students, I will teach them the ways of the Force, not to oppose the Jedi but to serve the Empire. Theirs would be a purpose much more specific than that of the Jedi; they would serve me, yes, as my agents throughout the Empire."

Maarek crossed his arms, eyes shuttered. "For someone who doesn't want a new Sith Lord sitting on the throne, you sure are starting to sound like one."

Skywalker's eyes never changed, Thrawn noted, they remained intent and confident, without any sign of rancor or irritation at the remark. Maarek was wrong about Skywalker, but the point the former Hand was trying to make was one Thrawn understood.

The young Jedi offered Maarek a grim smile, "Unlike Palpatine, however, my agents would serve an even more important purpose of being a check against my power. _That_ is where your primary responsibility would lie."

Thrawn raised his eyebrows. "You intend to keep the galaxy guarded against yourself, to prevent another Palpatine from emerging should you fall to the dark side."

"Not only for me, but yes," the Jedi confirmed, "for me and any who hold the throne after me. These…knights of the Empire won't be of the Jedi. They will be charged with the task of destroying me should I fall to the dark side, and their more mundane tasks may often be…greyer than their Jedi kin but no less important."

Stele's face was rarely expressive, usually better compared to a granite surface than flesh, but there was a measure of curiosity and contemplation that was plain to see. Thrawn didn't begrudge him that; Skywalker's plan was…unique. It posed its own dangers to the man in the form of his knights, but it was nonetheless a method Skywalker could use to reconcile his ideals with the power he'd be forced to wield.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn," Skywalker began, "before we move on to the reason for our being here, there's a bit of news I felt needed to be shared. The time I spent with the Rebel cell allowed me to learn a little bit about the abominable prison facility they were held in. As it turns out, the _Lusankya_ isn't actually a facility, but an incredibly massive _ship_ buried beneath Imperial Center's surface. It's manipulated gravity fields were used to make it extremely difficult for escape but were also a clue as to the true nature of the facility. It surpasses the size of a Star Destroyer by far, but they collected nothing else on the vessel. We need to move the residents sitting atop it and then raise it to the surface, and if possible, to orbit. As with any Imperial ship that large, it's likely to be well-armed."

Thrawn kept his face expressionless, but holding back the curiosity of the mystery that was the _Lusankya_ proved to be an impossible task. "I'll see to it that the process begins after our meeting."

"Thank you." The room fell quiet as Skywalker let out a breath and took a seat. He gave them each a penetrating stare as he leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Now, Grand Admiral, Agent Stele, let's begin. We have an Empire to save and a galaxy to heal. I'm going to be assuming the throne in a very short amount of time and I need your help to do it."

* * *

 **Six hours later**

The sudden absence of the Force was the first thing Maarek Stele noticed as he approached the isolated detention cell. It was an odd feeling, discomforting, and Maarek realized that unless he was actively using it, he'd rarely given much thought about his connection to the Force. It was only now, in its absence, that he realized exactly how integral it was to his being, how often he'd subconsciously reach for it. The loss of the Force was a sudden _nothingness_ that'd once been an ever-present flame within him. It was like suddenly losing the ability to see color, losing the ability to taste or becoming partially deaf, it was an itch under the skin that was fundamentally _wrong_.

Beside him, Skywalker's steps had faltered and the Jedi seemed even more affected than he did, seemingly physically drained and off-kilter. Maarek couldn't help but idly wonder if that was a result of the young man's sensitivity to the Force, his level of training or his lingering weakness from his recent battle. He allowed his inner musings and sudden insight into his connection to the Force to come to an end before taking the final steps that would take him to Skywalker's captive.

Outside of the detention wing, were a squad of stormtroopers, three of whom wore strange little harnesses on their backs, likely containing the odd creature Skywalker had described earlier. If Skywalker understood just how significant of a weakness he'd exposed by revealing the existence and abilities of the furry lizards, he showed no sign of it. They'd undoubtedly be a subject of interest and further study to the Grand Admiral, but he had no wish to be anywhere near them now that he understood the toll they took.

Skywalker nodded to the sergeant in command of the squad. "Sergeant, this man can spend as much time as he wishes with the prisoner; there's no need to accompany him inside."

"Sir," the trooper acknowledged curtly before stepping aside and gesturing for the cell to be unlocked.

"Agent Stele, I'll be rejoining the others…" Skywalker turned to walk away before he hesitated and added, "good luck."

Maarek gave him a curt nod before taking the last few steps and stepping inside.

Upon entering the holding area, Maarek discovered three cells, an unoccupied cell to each side and one before him containing the captured Force-sensitive agent. There were four motionless warden droids, two to either side of the cell entrance, as uniformly grey as the rest of the room. Both pairs of the spindly, angular droids stood guard over one of the harnesses that marked the presence of the Force-repelling lizard. He concealed the grimace that wanted to worm its way onto his face and approached the ray-shielded aperture to study the woman within.

The flame-haired woman sat on a compact, unyielding metal slab, her flesh separated from the cold durasteel only by a thin layer of stark white cloth bedding. Even through the golden incandescent shield that barred the entrance to the cell, the expression on her face wasn't at all difficult to discern. To say that she looked miserable and furious would be akin to saying that the surface of a star was warm and that space was big. Though they'd never even met, he was subject to a glare that, had the laws of nature not interfered, would have flayed the flesh from his bones.

On the whole, Maarek might've found her rather charming had he not been certain she'd slit his throat the moment he let his guard down.

She was a striking woman, her natural beauty currently disguised by the myriad of bruises and injuries left in the wake of her fight with Skywalker. But, if she was like every other highly placed agent of the Emperor, the gravest injury she'd suffered had likely been the blow to her pride. Having seen Skywalker's physical stature and seemingly innocuous demeanor, Maarek could sympathize with her internal chastisement.

Maarek had never seen her before, neither in his duties as one of Palpatine's Hands nor in his rare visits to Imperial Center and the palace. That fact didn't particularly surprise him; most, if not every Hand had been taught that they were _the_ Hand, the _only_ Hand. Were it not for Arden Lyn's involvement with Grand Admiral Zaarin's insurrection, he might very likely believe he was just as special as Jade seemed to think she was. Finishing his cursory inspection, he took several steps forward until he stood less than half a meter from the shield, standing stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back.

She didn't speak, just continued to glare at him.

"Skywalker believes that you have the potential for greatness. His words, not mine. He's told me, in part, of his hopes for the Empire and my place in it. He believes that, if you can find peace with the past, you might find your own place here. Again, his words, not mine. If it were me in his stead, I would have you lined up against a wall and shot for the threat you pose."

" _Skywalker_ ," the redhead spat, shaking her head in disbelief. Her determination to remain silent having evidently disappeared, she made up for her earlier silence with a loud exclamation, one full of scorn and incredulity. "So, the farmboy wasn't lying? He _is_ Vader's child…and he's inheriting the throne?"

Maarek nodded.

The woman just stared at him, looking as though her world wasn't just falling apart but was being blasted into atoms and vaporized in the violence wrought by matter-antimatter annihilation. She fought to contain her reaction, but her eyes couldn't like; he saw the way the confusion burned within them, the anger that was just waiting to be unleashed.

"I've been told that your name is Mara Jade," he said. When he received no response, Maarek continued, "My name is Maarek Stele. I was named as the Emperor's Hand and eventually the Emperor's Reach. I served with Vice Admiral, later Grand Admiral Thrawn in the Unknown Regions, where we were dispatched to neutralize the threat posed by the treachery of Grand Admiral Zaarin. It was during this campaign where I learned that my position wasn't nearly as unique as I'd been led to believe. There was a woman, a dark Jedi named Arden Lyn who collaborated with Zaarin. She, too, had been named a Hand of the Emperor."

Mara managed a weak scoff. "Unlikely, I was _the_ Hand, the Emperor himself raised me and named me to that position. Whatever you were, you did not enjoy that honor."

"Your disbelief is understandable; my own was just as potent as yours, I assure you. Were it not for their presence," Maarek jerked his head to indicate the ysalamiri, "you might be able to sense that I'm speaking the truth. But, I _can_ tell you about my experiences training under the Secret Order of the Empire, my promotion to the Emperor's Reach, the various code clearances I possess—"

"All of which could be discovered by someone with sufficient rank. A Grand Admiral or the spawn of Vader, for example, might have access to that information" Mara retorted.

"And what of this?" Maarek prompted. Stepping closer, he loosened the sleeve around his arm and withdraw a small device. Activating the device with a soft whine, an intricate, purple tattoo manifested on his arm from the inside of his elbow to the underside of his wrist.

The redhead's whole body seemed to shudder as she took in the tattoo of the Emperor's Secret Order. She let out a harsh breath, eyes never leaving the symbol.

"Nothing you've said justifies any collusion with the murderer of our master, with the usurper of his throne. Why are you helping him?" Mara finally asked.

"Collusion is such an ugly word. We wouldn't have even heard of the Emperor's death or of the defeat at Endor had Vader's missive not arrived. Grand Admiral Thrawn and I are here as much out of curiosity as a desire to keep the Empire intact. We've promised nothing to him and are operating primarily to determine the viability of Skywalker's plan for the Empire. So far, what little of the plans he's revealed for the Empire has proven to be neither unfeasible nor unreasonable."

"You'd trust a Rebel with the Empire?" Mara blurted, clearly aghast at the notion.

Maarek's lips twisted into a sour expression. "The Emperor wasn't perfect, Mara. The Empire, for the most part, is a stable entity. But something as large scale as the Rebellion doesn't spring up out of nowhere; it was the Emperor's policies and those of his subordinates that birthed it. He allowed it to remain, to use as justification for his continued militarization. But the Rebellion grew with each atrocity and then Skywalker…"

"You sound as though you joined the Rebellion, Stele. Didn't take Skywalker very long to make you roll over and play fetch, did it?"

Ignoring the jibe, he replied to her accusation. "The Rebellion formed as a result of the backlash in the aftermath of the fall of the Republic; it was inevitable that there'd be a resistance against the Empire. Rebels so often portray the Republic as a utopia, a place of liberty, excess and high-minded ideals. But you and I both know that the Republic was also a place of corruption, bureaucratic stagnation and political self-interest that made its collapse all but inevitable. The Empire solved those problems, or it _might_ have, had the aristocracy been willing to back the principles upon which the Empire had formed. Can you honestly disagree with anything I've just said?"

"Many of the Empire's imperfections are a result of the necessity to deal with the Rebellion," Mara retorted instantly.

"The Grand Moffs, the Grand Admirals, his Ruling Council, you think they'd be any less foul in the absence of the Rebellion?"

Mara grimaced and looked away.

"I can excuse many of the harsh deeds the Empire has committed," Maarek spoke quietly, "but there are things I've seen for which there is no excuse. Hypocrisy in so many of the Empire's leaders, which I _know_ you've seen, is rampant. The actions taken to keep the Empire intact, even ones the Rebellion considers barbaric, are actions that I can stand behind. That line only goes so far, however, and Alderaan certainly crossed that line. Even the way the Empire used Thrawn was disturbing, making use of his strategies and giving credit to humans...that's what the Empire became. You're lying to yourself if you believe the Empire was perfect."

The reference to Alderaan actually made her eye twitch, but the anger in her eyes never faded. "Then what does _he_ intend? Palpatine is dead. Vader is dead. Nothing is stopping him from undoing everything the Empire has done for the galaxy. The Empire is my _home_ , Maarek. I exposed traitors for Palpatine, brought down his enemies, helped him keep the kind of control over the petty bureaucracies that he needed. I had prestige, and power, and respect!"

A moment passed as Maarek allowed himself a moment of pity for the young woman. "How much was ever truly yours, Jade? How much of it was still yours when he died? How much control did he ever have over those bureaucracies when their corruption proved to be unmanageable. How was the Rebellion able to become strong enough to become a true threat to his rule? He _lied_ to you, Jade, just as he lied to me."

"He named me as the Emperor's Hand, named _others_ to the same position, believers in him, in the Empire just the same as you." Lifting a finger to point to the tattoo, Maarek leaned in and spoke in a harsh, low voice. "I am _not_ a member of the Rebellion, Jade; their pretty values might fuel a resistance but they won't survive the ruling of a galactic government. It is my understanding that Darth Vader intended for Skywalker to not only keep the Empire intact but to confront the issues that detracted from the principles Palpatine formed this Empire with."

"But he's a member—" Mara began but was quickly cut off.

Maarek cut her off. "He hasn't revealed everything to me but Skywalker's plans do _not_ involve turning over the Empire to his Rebel friends and he does _not_ intend to turn the Empire into the Republic, either. You can be sure that if that were the case, the Grand Admiral and I would not be so passive in our interactions."

Mara gingerly stood to her feet and spread her hands wide in appeal. "Then what do you want? What does _he_ want?"

Maarek shut off the device, put it away and rolled down his sleeve, keeping his eyes locked on hers all the while. "Skywalker told me that Palpatine put something into your mind, something intended to grant him his revenge."

"Justice," Mara corrected.

Maarek raised an eyebrow and moved on without argument. "Skywalker is letting you go. He intends to send you out on a shuttle locked onto a specific course with all communications locked down except for those addressed to the Imperial Palace."

Mara let out a huff of air and sat back onto the slab, crossing her arms. "He's still sending me to Endor to look at the walking tin-can's remains, huh?"

The black-haired man's lips quirked and he shrugged a shoulder. "A series of destinations actually, all locked into the navigational system. Quite the sightseeing tour of the Outer Rim that you'll be taking."

The redhead crossed her arms, looking almost sulky as she heard her fate. "Where else?"

"After Endor, you'll be going to Tatooine, possibly to meditate about the nature of sand. You'll then backtrack to a planet-sized swamp in the Sluis sector to go spelunking, and then back here…to visit the Jedi Temple in his company. After…doing whatever it is you'll be doing at each destination, you'll need to comm the palace to have the next navigational course unlocked. He _also_ said that you'll be watched when you arrive at Tatooine, the only planet populated by sentient life of the group, so he'd advise against trying to hitch a ride offworld."

"He's letting me go?" Mara repeated disbelievingly.

Maarek's lips thinned. "Against the recommendations of Imperial and Rebel personnel alike. I don't know how you made such an impression on the man, but you should thank the stars that he's neither our former master nor his father or his response to your assassination attempt would be…more severe."

The flame-haired woman seemed to shudder at the idea before she took a seat back onto the slab. Staring at her hands, she asked quietly, "What must I do?"

"Consent and cooperate in having that thing in your mind removed," Maarek replied.

Mara's mouth opened, obviously intending to argue but paused when Stele raised a staying hand.

"If your desire for revenge is as potent as you believe, then removing his voice will do no harm, yes? And if his voice is physically causing you pain as Skywalker believes, then it would also make you more effective, wouldn't it?"

Mara glowered at him, eyes hurt, confused and undoubtedly searching for a flaw in his reasoning.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he said gently and turned to walk away. He hadn't even taken a step when her voice called out to him.

"I'll do it."

* * *

 **Fifty days after BoE**  
 **Aboard the MC80 Star Cruiser _Independence_**  
 **Arbra orbit  
Arbran system, Bon'nyuw-Luq sector**

"Princess?"

Leia looked up in surprise, the reports collected on her datapad forgotten. "General Cracken, how can I help you?"

Airen Cracken, General and Supreme Commander of Alliance Intelligence, glanced around at the mostly empty mess hall and jerked his head toward the exit. "If you don't mind, Princess, we received a few transmissions you might be interested in. They're a little too sensitive to be shared here and I didn't think it was wise to share it over commlink."

Leia eyed the spymaster curiously before examining the untouched cup of now cold caf on the table. Grimacing, she set the cup aside and stood up. "After you, General."

After giving her a courteous bow of his head, Leia trailed in the older man's wake toward the lift to find a more secure and private locale.

#

"Alright, General, what do you have for me?" Leia asked curiously. She sat with her legs crossed, fingers flat against the light-blue fabric of her dress as the other man took a seat in a white, plush couch opposite her own. "I have time but not much, I'm afraid. I have a meeting with the Hoojib ambassador in less than two hours."

Cracken's typically dour expression morphed almost imperceptibly when his mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. "Of course, Your Highness, I can assure you that this won't take long. And, now that you've mentioned it, please pass along my regards to Plif."

Leia's eyes crinkled in a smile as she thought of the wise, telepathic, white and pink Arbran native. "I'll be sure to do that. So, General?"

"We received a transmission from General Solo with a mission update," Airen replied, another one of his there-and-gone again smiles appearing on his face when her eyes sparked with interest. "He, Chewbacca, and Lieutenant Page's team were able to make contact with several of the tribal leaders on Kashyyyk and make trade agreements for natural resources and establishing supply depots in return for removing the Imperial presence in the system. He stated that the Imperial Naval presence currently consists of a Star Destroyer and two interdictors. His team was directly responsible for the destruction of an armed space station used to facilitate the trade of Wookiee slaves."

"What happened to keeping it low key?" Leia wondered aloud. "Weren't they there specifically to observe _only_?"

Cracken snorted. "General Solo is many things, Your Highness, but neither subtlety nor a willingness to stand by when those he cares about are harmed are among them. A group of Wookiees had been taken and Solo took it upon himself to see them to safety. Things…happened during the events that followed."

Leia sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Of course, they did, how bad?"

"Well, as I said, the space station was destroyed and the Wookiees were successfully recovered. And, Grand Admiral Pecatti Syn was assassinated."

Leia blinked.

Cracken gave her a feral smile. "The assassinations that began taking place after the Battle of Endor appear to have continued. In this instance, the bounty hunter claimed that a significant bounty had been posted on a number of the remaining Grand Admirals and Moffs. With the Grand Admiral dead and the space station destroyed, Admiral Ackbar has proposed that we move our plans for Kashyyyk forward. He believes that with the loss of the Grand Admiral, the Imperial presence is more likely to retreat than fight it out. Everything I've read about the situation and the Star Destroyer's new commanding officer supports that suggestion."

Leia frowned, considering Cracken's words. "I'm assuming both General Rieekan and Chief of State Mothma have already been given the full report; what did they have to say?"

"They're at something of a deadlock, I'm afraid. So far, we've kept our expansion to the Outer Rim to accommodate the cease fire that we established with the Empire; going into the Mid Rim and Expansion Region will be more problematic. On the other hand, they're a planet known for their sympathy toward our cause and the gross violations Moff Darcc has inflicted upon the Wookiees would more than justify our actions."

"And there is the fact that several Mid Rim planets are already flying our flag, General," Leia reminded him.

"Yes, well, when the time comes to draw borders, won't _that_ just make things utterly delightful," the Contruumian muttered. With a sigh, he spread his hands. "We've come up with a solution, well, a temporary one at any rate."

Leia cocked her head in question.

"This leads me to a second transmission we only just received: Targeter reports that Rogue Squadron is currently on Coruscant."

"Imagine that," Leia replied dryly. Quieting for a moment, she tilted her head and asked, "You want to use her to funnel communications to Luke?"

Cracken nodded. "Indirectly so as not to ruin her cover but yes. Mon would like to keep Commander Skywalker informed of any major developments outside of the Outer Rim. We're hoping that Skywalker will be able to use whatever influence he possesses to recall planetary and system governors, along with the garrisons they oversee, from planets and systems that have proved to be overwhelmingly supportive of the Alliance."

"That'd be an unprecedented concession," Leia observed with a frown. "It'd be dangerous for him to agree to it. Besides, until he's formally named the Emperor, the only influence he has is an extension of those who already support him. Even having that Grand Admiral of his issue orders on his behalf might not carry a lot of weight. Being unknown and nonhuman will be more than enough for staunch loyalists to dismiss his orders."

"It's an idea that we're still working on," Airen agreed with a shrug. "Now," he began, slapping his hand on his knee to signify a change of topic, "the _third_ message we received came from the survey team we sent to Honoghr. They've arrived and have begun collecting data, both to confirm the Noghri's claim and to assess the extent of the damage and the viability of a plan to help the world's ecosystem recover."

As he spoke, the general flicked his eyes over her shoulder at the silent form of Khabarakh, who was standing sentinel by the closed hatch. Though there was no verbal response or sound of movement from the Noghri, Leia was suddenly struck by an overwhelming sense of relief and hope. Khabarakh's relief and hope, she realized uncomfortably.

Both Luke and Vader had been correct; now that her mind had been opened to the Force, its whispers and insights were becoming an increasingly common phenomenon. For the most part, it'd come in the form of brief flashes of insight or the sense of another person's feelings and emotions, but it was almost always vague.

Vader—Anakin had told her before he left to save Luke from his own damn hero complex, that with training and discipline, her understanding of such things would grow. He'd also said, with such grief that even she had felt a moment of pity for him, that the Force would rarely provide a direct answer to her questions and that the vagueness of its answers could lead to dangerous paths if one followed its whispers out of fear. His words, spoken with such bitterness and sadness, and the rawness in his voice made it clear that his fall from grace had likely come from such a choice. Suffice it to say that it had _not_ been an encouraging speech, but it had helped her understand her brother and Anakin Skywalker just a little better.

Leia sighed and shook her head. She hoped Anakin would come back soon and wasn't _that_ just a laugh riot, but she just didn't know how much more of Yoda's cackling laughter she could take.

"Princess?"

Leia blinked and met General Cracken's concerned eyes. "Pardon me, General, I was thinking about Honoghr. What were you saying?"

Airen watched her carefully for another moment before he sighed. "And the fourth message we received came from a rather _interesting_ source. I might add, by the way, that we received all of these messages in the last three hours and we've been scrambling to play catch-up."

"It must be terrible having to work so hard," Leia murmured sympathetically.

"How very droll, Your Highness," Cracken replied blandly. "But, this message, I think, you'll find more interesting."

Leia raised an eyebrow and waved him to continue.

"Jix, as he calls himself, is a pain in the ass who's either a smuggler, assassin, bounty hunter, fixer or all of the above who's apparently an asset that Commander Skywalker has managed to collect. Whatever he is, he's extended an invitation on Skywalker's behalf to Alliance High Command to witness the ascension of the heir-to-be to the Imperial Throne in a little more than five weeks."

Leia's breath caught. "Five weeks? So soon?"

The general shrugged. "That's part of the reason Mon wants to wait on Kashyyyk, because of the news of Skywalker, I mean. If Thrawn's influence isn't powerful enough, we'll have to hope that 'Emperor' Skywalker commands enough of the Navy to be able to authorize such recalls. We're skeptical, but for now "wait and see" is the best way to move forward with sympathetic systems."

"'Emperor' Skywalker," Leia echoed mournfully. "It sounds like a joke."

Cracken shrugged.

Leia nodded unhappily and, giving him a curious look, asked, "Is High Command considering Luke's invitation?"

Airen lifted a hand and waggled it back and forth. "Certainly not _all_ of us, but if the arrangements are secure to General Madine's specifications and our itinerary is kept secure, it's not impossible."

"I'd like to see him again," Leia murmured, thinking of her brother's features. They'd been separated for _so long_ and it seemed monstrous of the universe that they be separated yet again. Sinking into the chair as her mind continued to race through the information Cracken had imparted, she sighed and said, "And so we wait until we learn more."

"So, now we wait," Cracken confirmed. "Hopefully, Admiral Piett will have made progress in securing Talon Karrde's services. What my people have uncovered seems to corroborate with both Admiral Piett and General Calrissian's assessment of the man: reliable and trustworthy if you're willing to pay the exorbitant price as well as uncomfortably effective as an information procurer and broker. Were he to facilitate communication between us and Luke's Empire, the delay in receiving messages off the HoloNet would be significantly diminished. He's certainly more preferable than this _Jix._ "

Leia's lips quirked in a decidedly unroyal manner as she took the spymaster's expression in. "General, why do you seem to take Jix's existence as a personal affront?"

"All that annoying prat said at the beginning was that he worked for Skywalker's father and that "Uncle D" was paying him to continue taking care of 'the kid'," Cracken replied, rubbing his temples in an obvious display of annoyance.

"Uncle D?" Leia echoed, "You mean—"

"Apparently, Vader's famed intolerance for _everything_ didn't extend to irritating, Corellian lowlifes," Airen Cracken snarled.

"Han would disagree," Leia muttered with a shake of her head, " _vehemently_."

"Point," Cracken acknowledged. "Now, Your Highness, there's one last thing. I'm afraid I've omitted the second part of Jix's message."

Lifting an eyebrow at the man's look of consternation, Leia waved him to continue.

"The coronation won't be taking place on Coruscant."

Leia's eyes widened. " _What?_ Why? The entire Imperial establishment will be outraged! Where does he plan to hold it?"

Cracken made a 'harumph' as he shook his head. "I have the impression that it wasn't Commander Skywalker's idea. In fact, I'm fairly sure that it was Jix's, which gives you an idea of how much trust Skywalker has suddenly invested in the man. His reasoning is that if Skywalker is about to go public, he should do so in a place that is both connected to the Jedi, a place that holds better memories of his father and was significant to Emperor Palpatine."

Leia eyed the man as if she were waiting for the punchline.

The general sighed, "Neither Anakin Skywalker nor Sheev Palpatine began their lives dedicated to the dark side, Your Highness. They were, both of them, respected and admired by a great many beings across the galaxy. Whatever else they became, there are still those who remember them as figures who needn't be feared."

"Spit it out, General."

"Naboo, they're going to Naboo. Palpatine's homeworld, a culturally significant system to the Empire which will inspire some amount of satisfaction from the old guard," Cracken answered.

"The planet despises Palpatine, General," Leia snapped. "Force! They're ready to cede from the Empire and join the Alliance at the first opportunity!"

"Very true, Your Highness," the general replied softly, "but this is a planet that also remembers a nine-year-old boy who saved them from conquest 36 years ago."

Leia furrowed her brows in confusion.

"I didn't quite understand the significance either," Cracken admitted with a wry look, "Mon, on the other hand, did. Though the events took place almost a decade before she was elected senator, she remembers the events quite well. Apparently, a colleague whom Mon would come to regard as a mentor, political ally and close friend was the elected Queen at the time. Anakin Skywalker was a hero to the entire planet for the role he played; his name is still well known, even if it is never spoken aloud."

"Nine years…"

"'Skywalker' is a name most of the Naboo will recognize. Furthermore, they haven't forgotten the assassination of Queen Apailana or the destruction of the Jedi she harbored. Now that a self-proclaimed _Jedi_ will be taking the throne…"

"Appeasing the Empire by hosting the coronation on Palpatine's homeworld, presenting a Jedi and the son of Anakin Skywalker to appease the Naboo, revealing that Anakin Skywalker was Darth Vader, making Luke the son of Vader… it'll be chaos," Leia complained, shaking her head.

"Chaos, yes, but not immediate, overwhelming overt hostility and aggression. The confusion that the revelations will create will be far less volatile on Naboo than they'd be on Coruscant or another Core world," Cracken replied.

"And, hopefully, he can make order out of the confusion? That seems...unlikely."

"Perhaps," the Alliance general conceded. "However, a central reason that Palpatine was able to become the Emperor was a result of his mastery of using chaos to further his goals: the political quagmires of the Republic and the increasing tension and eventual outbreak of the Clone War. Well, that and being a Sith Lord, I suppose. In any case, this Jix fellow seems to share that understanding of chaos. Chaos can be violent, it can be destructive, it can be horrific, brutal and tragic. But, it can also incite change, it can provide opportunity out of the miasma it stirs up. Chaos is a ladder, Your Highness, and _this_ ladder might just have the rungs Skywalker needs to climb to ascend the throne."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** And there's my token nod to Game of Thrones; awesome books/tv show. I'm sure most of you can probably see what's coming ahead with Naboo (parts of it, at least), so you have that to look forward to. Some of you might have noticed the discrepancy in how long it takes people/places to get messages to other people/places. Part of this is because not all communication is instantaneous. Vader's communication with Palpatine in ESB would be an example of instantaneous, long range communication, but as I understand it, such devices were relatively rare outside of major ships or communications hubs. Distance obviously is a factor, as well as the method of communication (subspace transceiver, Holonet, etc), and the stability of the network/route (delays/intermittent connections).

I believe I said this before, but if not: Thrawn did not inherit the Noghri in my story. That was something I altered for storytelling; basically, I replaced Rukh with Maarek Stele. So there you are.

Yes, Vader did own a bunch of his own ships, among them were a number of Eta-2 interceptors and the J-Type 327.

Random blurb about the Force: I read something the other day about why the Sith, or darksiders in general, consider themselves and the dark side stronger than the Jedi and the light side. That got me thinking because, in some respects, they certainly are. Not necessarily a "dark side is stronger than light side" thing, but in how it's used. The advantage of the dark side is that it can be used without much or any moral considerations, allowing darksiders to focus entirely on attacking, offensive actions, causing massive destruction without hesitation. In the past, many Sith/Jedi duels/battles/wars seem to have been won by Jedi solely because they had the advantage of numbers, that they were able to act while the darksider was relatively contained.

As I've been writing my story and researching various characters/events, I've come across a lot of interesting information. It just so happens that, after reading the dark vs. light side argument, I came across a story about a purge survivor (whose name I can no longer find, but it's somewhere on Wookieepedia) who duked it out with Vader. The Jedi would've won the duel had Vader not threatened to destroy a nearby dam, and consequently thousands of innocent people in the city nearby. The Jedi stopped his attack in order to keep the dam intact and, unsurprisingly, died when Vader took advantage of the situation. Then, Vader let the dam collapse anyway because that's what darksiders do. Another example is the scene in Attack of the Clones where Yoda fights Dooku, where Yoda lets Dooku escape in order to save Kenobi and Skywalker. Yoda could've won that duel and had Dooku been stopped, the Separatists would've lost a critical figure which gave them the sort of legitimacy they needed (hence the "rally more systems to his cause" comment). Plus destroying a well-trained Sith would be beneficial, right? All that, in order to save two people.

I suppose that's the weakness of the light side and why the "power" of the dark side is so often lauded by darksiders because the Force has _freed_ them from the chains of the light side's natural moral confinement. Indeed, perhaps that freedom is why Yoda describes it as seductive. This might also play into my earlier theory about gray Jedi seeming to be stronger, about those who've escaped the reach of the dark side or who often walk the line. Their awareness of what each side can offer, of where the line lies, of their own ability to compromise between what's right and what's smart or necessary. /rant

Fanfiction annoyances: This isn't specific to Star Wars and, in fact, rarely happens with the Star Wars universe. Something that annoys me is in crossovers, where one universe is annihilated to accommodate another. Example, Lost GirlxBuffy xover where it was discovered that the entire Slayer lineage was a lie and it was all actually related to the Fae. I've also seen this in HaloxMass Effect xovers, where Sheppard is actually just a gung-ho UNSC soldier. Some people like it, I don't, even though I love HaloxMass Effect xovers. I read crossovers because I want to see what happens when two fandoms and their canons meet, not because I want to see some characters transplanted while having their backstory disappeared.

Also, I fucking hate Xander as a Buffy fanfiction character. I hate him, hate him, hate him.

Addressing a comment made about lightsaber crystals/blade colors: Fact: In Legends, Kenobi's hut on Tatooine contained not only the pieces for a lightsaber but also a forge specifically meant for creating lightsaber crystals (read: synthetic). Luke Skywalker, Corran Horn (first self-made lightsaber's original crystal was a synthetic diamond), Jaina Solo, and Lowbacca all used synthetic crystals in their lightsabers at one point or another. In Legends, the color was based more on the crystal and forging _process_ itself rather than anything else. While the Sith were the first to make common use of synthetic crystals, it was not their synthetic nature but the dark side influence throughout the process used to forge them that gave them their crimson hue. Same applies with dual-bladed lightsabers, started by the Sith but not specific to the Sith.

It's not as clear, but I think in the new/Disney canon, Kenobi's hut didn't have a forge but Alternatively, the kyber crystals of Disney canon are all clear at first and shift colors based on the Force-sensitive's attributes/proclivities. Because the kyber crystals are naturally attuned to the light side, the Sith have to "overpower it," to corrupt it in order to attune the crystal to themselves (Read: making a crystal bleed). In the end, there's a level of inconsistency with both theories in how the process can be sustained throughout the entirety of the canon, but I prefer the Disney version which has a little more…depth to it and is less mechanical. Regardless, I think it's ridiculous to ascribe a certain type of crystal to either Jedi or Sith.

Things that drive me bonkers about Star Wars fanfiction: Every now and then I feel the urge to beat my head against the wall because, for some reason, people list "Anakin Skywalker" as a main character of their story when it is, in fact, Anakin Solo who is involved. The exact same thing happens with Lumiya and Ahsoka, too. No idea why, it makes no sense, but there you have it. Grr.

And about fanfiction in general: Sex scenes. Okay, so I don't mind if the author decides to include a sex scene in their story, but they need to decide from the get-go how explicit they're going to make it. Romance scenes without any explicit details can be great, a classy way to depict a relationship without descending into the world of erotica. Even the stories featuring scenes which are basically just smut can be okay. What drives me nuts are the people who try to go for some weird, in-between, bullshit who use the most ridiculous words either because they think it won't affect the rating, they're just afraid of using grown-up words, or they think they're being artsy like the 50 Shades of Grey writer who is so fascinated with a female's "Inner Goddess." (Yes, I read it, fuck off)

Penis. Shaft. Cock. Vagina. Pussy. (Wo)manhood. Breasts. Tits (sort of cutting it close on that last one, imo). These are all okay to use so long as the level of explicitness remains consistent and that the author doesn't vacillate between attempts at classy romance and down and dirty smut.

No fucking loveshafts, meatsticks, or tool (- as a reference to a penis) petal(s), boobies, titties, or wellspring of desire or any usage of the words: moist, sloppy or floppy. And for sanity's sake, don't have woman shrieking or men roaring out their pleasure. Either the author hasn't ever had sex, doesn't understand how sex works or they don't actually know the definition of those words. I could go on, but you get the point and I'm already making myself feel uncomfortable. (Insert: "I need an adult!" meme here)

/Rant


	15. Hiatus

Alright folks, I have some bad news for you.

Unfortunately, the release of my next chapter has been delayed and I'm not sure I can really give you a firm estimate on when it will be released. I have **NOT** abandoned the story, but circumstances have made it difficult to put out as much material as before.

My position within the company I work for used to allow me to write periodically throughout the work day, enough to keep me on track and steadily pushing out material. However, the change to my hours that occurred a few months ago made that much more difficult. To compound that, I've been temporarily reassigned to another position, with duties that don't give me as much leeway as I used to have, so the amount of time I can actually spend on writing has been cut drastically.

Even worse, my newfound love for Game of Thrones fanfiction has consumed much of the free time I have left that I'd actually spend on writing.

So yeah, I'm sorry folks, but things are going to be slowed down/paused until such time as I have more time on my hands to write, but again, these stories are **NOT** cancelled and it will not be years and years until I release the next chapter.

Also, Stranger Things 2 came out recently and I watched that over the course of the week. Amazing, amazing, amazing.

 **—** **—** **—**

~~CzarZelinsky

P.S. The Last Jedi looks interesting, emirite?


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